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By Vee
The garden is adorned with beautiful trees bearing large fruits and delicious vegetables found all over. They are always a reliable source of food. The ground is covered in lush, green grass that stretches continuously. The weather is always sunny and warm, just enough for you to feel the sun touch your skin without it being too harsh. The garden carries a sweet fragrance, with the mixed scent of citrus trees creating a wonderful aroma.
With the trees comes a large population of animals. There are birds of various species, insects ranging from small to large, and many types of rodents roaming the ground. They all make unique sounds and leave distinct tracks. In the middle of the garden, a babbling creek runs, filled with fish and cold, clean water. Its soothing sound complements the peaceful environment. This garden stretches as far as the eye can see.
We have never seen the creators of this garden. To pass the time, we imagine their appearances and backgrounds. We envision them as beautiful deities with long hair and billowing clothing. They float down and admire their sacred bill, which prominently sits at the garden's center.
It states in perfect lettering:
I will never leave. There have been people who simply considered it and never came back. Leaving is against the rules set by the creators. I hear that life outside is hard. Trusting the unknown is difficult, but it's easier than trusting myself. I cannot imagine a life outside the garden; imagination feels pointless. Making decisions takes too much effort, and here decisions are made for you. It is like a continuous vacation for the brain.
I have never seen the outside. But then again, I trust the creators. They have never done anything to harm me or the other residents. They have provided us with food, water, and everything we could possibly need. I have never had a good reason not to trust them.
By Gethen
The smell is damp and the light is dim. My eyes have adjusted to the light. The images I can see are amplified by the surrounding darkness and my ocular sense is bias to what is in immediately in front of me… myopic. The sound is clear although the source of each sound is difficult to pinpoint with the immense echo of this room.
How long have I been watching these screens? A screen for news, a screen for the latest reel from Fail Army, a screen for gaming, and a smaller screen for chatting with friends. But are they really friends? With user names like fart96 and iwillownyou, how would I know the human behind the account? How many of these accounts are bots?
My bonds are tight but comforting. Something feels different. My wrist feels a breeze in a way that I have never felt. I cannot look down with the shackles causing me to prop up my neck. My urge is to look down. I can! Although a collar remains around my neck, whatever to which it was chained has been released. I glance to my wrist and the cool feeling of a breeze was the absence of the handcuff. I am also able to look around, 360 degrees. For the first time I question where I am. What is this place? Can I leave?
What is the point of leaving the comfort of this room? I am thoroughly informed and entertained. Anything can be delivered at any moment I would be willing to pay for. What is the worth of comfort? Of course, the fact that I am having this conversation with myself causes me down the path of doubt as to what to do next.
By Vee and Gethen
My body has no scars.
I cannot leave. Or can I?
I love everything about this palace but I am overwhelmed with obligation to love it.
This palace is too big to call home.
My thoughts have devolved into simplistic commands to my body, speckled with feral hopes of escape.
My parents love is suffocating.
The result of tender opulence is monotony...
monotony,
monotony,
monotony.
What is light without its absence? What is understanding without knowledge? What is knowledge without experience?
The bedroom on the fifth floor to the right has been mine since the day I was born. It has always been a welcoming space. A bed with a cloth top sits in the corner, made perfectly and drenched in the clean smell of perfumed soap. The ceiling is made of dark wood beams, and the walls are draped in elegant wallpaper. A matching desk and hand-embroidered tuffet are next to the bed. The desk holds a quill with thick, blue ink. A piece of blank paper taunts me if I stare at it too long. The only sound I can hear is an unidentifiable bird singing to itself—-a comfort that costs an early morning. The overwhelming incense with strong, floral tones has remained the same for many years. The smell creates nausea in most, but the flat smell of grass outside drowns it out, making it bearable for a few. Above it all, a large window frames the unreachable town in all its glory.
The town is full of large, brownish structures with red accents. Steep, snow-covered mountains mark the borders. They are jagged and much larger than life lived in the palace. The mountains witness the creation of success and the ultimate, untimely fate of suffering. Stratocumulus-esque clouds often sit above these peaks. Gorgeous hills and tall trees sweep throughout. The town has many steps and small mud homes covered with dried grass. These alluring features have only expanded exponentially in the past few years.
I hesistate. I ponder writing down what the voice in my head commands... "Your palace is furnished with selfish thoughts... you are compelled to leave your castle."
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