in a story of life there are stages and there are things in different shapes wrapped in different colors. we do not know what they are for the wrappers change colors every stage. but now let's talk about these said stages
there are four doors for four stages and the first one that an individual would always choose is the one which leads to the beginning of childhood; a door that screams color and fun. then the room would go smaller that you have to leave and enter the second nearest door. the one that smells like grass and sweat and echoing of laughter. but that too would grow small, would look to plain and you'd get tired so you'd leave. you were back to the empty hall, and lingered there for a while. everyone does it. but eventually, they'd move and face this odd door that looks quite familiar and entered it. it was a room moving so fast, a room with distant noises and floating colors and hanging frames of long lost dreams. and then you'd try to leave but you can't. no one has ever left that door.
you see the first door was the smallest one, it was childhood. but you grew so fast and time flew above your head, it zoomed out of a window and left curiousity for you to unwrap. that was the first thing you had. the next thing you know a monkey with colorful fur came crawling up the lamp on the corner of room, left a banana shaped gift and you called it fear. a young child as you didn't know it would contain the tiniest seeds of terror, and your curiousity made you eat it and now you jump at any small noises. you'd cry and be fearful so you ran out of that door and finished your childhood that quick.
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that's when you stumled to a new door, and found yourseldf kneeling on a grassy field beneath the playful light of the sun. and that door you entered lead you to a room wedged between your childhood and the looming days the kinds of you would run away from. the trees danced and then there was a harsh gust of the wind, it made a bird fall to the ground and on its beak is a white cloth. the bird was dead and free from pain, so the gift it brought was freedom. but its dead body brought along responsibility, and so you buried the bird below a huge tree which you assumed was its favourite place to stay.
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there was some yelling behind you, and when you turned around the sun was gone and the moon was there in the sky. the field was now a wetland and you're knee deep in mud. you're stuck, you couldn't move. But the yelling is persistent. No one's around and yet the sound seems to be getting closer and closer— and you're going deeper into the mud. It was another whole package wrapped in dirt, it's sucking you in. The whole thing, it was adulthood. It was strong and it was hard to fight.
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You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut but then there's a blast of ringing in your ear, then light hit behind your eyes and you had to open them again to see a familiar ceiling, with cobwebs and a flickering lightbulb. Gone was the suffocation and so you moved and found yourself sitting up on a stiff mattress, there are food stains on your blanket and a piece of crumpled paper by your pillow—receipts and bills and curses from your beer smelling mouth. And there on the side was the very same door you saw beside the one you entered before you somehow brought to a distant land of darkness.
-
Today, you're on the other side of that door and you're in the present—it sinks in. You're in the present with a lot of responsibilities and no, you don't want to be here. You threw off the blanket, dashed to the door and swung it open but you were not met by the corridor of that empty hall you came from before you entered life. What greets you is a messy living room and no, you cannot escape the present. You're stuck and the time is so slow it could kill you.
It makte you wonder if you'd even be able to open the last door at the end of the hall, the one before you entered life. The one that's vague and labeled as future. You wonder, of there really is a next day? A next room? You don't know and so you slide down the wooden door and sobbed…would things be different if you picked different gifts? No one knows.
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Credits to the rightful owner of the pictures used