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The Door

So he was sitting in the cafe, watching out of that glass door. Though the view he was watching was the same one he watched yesterday, and the day before. And the month before. But this time he wasn't looking though the door. He was looking at the door. 

He always knew that the kinda life he is looking for is way too difficult to achieve in this safe house. Where the food menu repeated itself within the week. Where all conversations ended up in gossips, Where nobody truly respected anybody. Here people came for fetching money from a well, and always ended up drowning instead. 

"Hows's the weekend?", Somebody asked him, and he gave the typical answer, as expected. The life was encapsulated in five days, with a sugar coating of weekdays. But apparently this medicine was not at all good for health. Rather it was making him lazy, and was taking him away from his pyramids. 



The pyramids, he was thinking about them for a while. They were his dreams, to reach them was his obsession. That was the main reason he took the job, to make his dream come true. All he used to think about the view from the top, the sun setting at the horizon, the strong wind cutting through his head, to clear his thoughts about life. An experience he would tell, once he is old. Yeah, he dreamed about getting old.

And then he closed his eyes for a moment. A moment of truth. He could hear screams of himself.                                                GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!   
and then he opened his eyes with a determination in them. He knew exactly what he needed.

It was the door that kept all of them safe inside, but it was the door as well which didn't let them out in the open. It kept them from reaching their real capabilities. The illusion of glass is remarkable. As long as you look through it, you feel everything around is reachable, but the second you are to grab something behind that door, you know you are stuck. 

And now he knew what he needed. He needed to get out of that door. 
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