You’re living in a prison cell. You were born here and have lived here all your life. You have all of your basic needs met, and you’re safe.
One day, someone delivers a package to you. You open it. It’s a book called “The Outside World.”
The book tells you that there are people and places outside of the prison. Things that are beautiful. Things that are scary. Millions of things to learn and experience, more than you could possibly fit into one lifetime.
You mention this to one of the guards, and he says “that’s not real.”
You believe him.
More packages show up. Foods you’ve never had before. Shells from the ocean. Flowers. Music. Stories from long ago. Poetry.
You mention this to the guard. He glares, and threatens to take away the few privileges you enjoy if you ever speak of it again. This frightens you, and you comply.
Eventually you get a letter. It says:
“I used to be like you. I was a prisoner. They said life had to be that way. Eventually, I left. The world outside is beautiful.”
You find that notion preposterous. How could they just leave? Weren’t they locked in a cell?
You look at the cell door, and realize you’ve never tried it. You have no idea if it’s actually locked. You just assumed it was because the guards told you it was. Nervously, you approach, your hand reaching out towards the door.
It swings open.
You panic, and close it again. You think about the outside world. It was beautiful, sure, but there was also war, famine, disease. Something bad could happen to you out there. And what if the guards saw you?
The letters and packages stop coming. You think about the outside world less. You start to think the cell isn’t so bad.
An unknown period of time passes. It is hard to judge time in the cell.
You see the guards carrying a body bag down the corridor. A prisoner had died in his cell.
You think about living the rest of your life in that cell. Day in, day out, eating the same bland foods and wearing the same gray clothes while the world passes you by. Waiting until the day you get carried out in a body bag.
You look at the door, knowing it’s unlocked. You think about all the danger outside and about how safe it is in the cell.
You also remember the music, and the shells, and the flowers.
You decide to sneak out when the guards are changing shifts. After all, you can always come back, right?
You get out of the cell later that afternoon. You look down the hallway. It seems to stretch away forever. You see light pouring in from one of the walls. As you approach, you realize the wall is transparent. This must be one of those windows you read about in the book.
You stand in front of it and look out. There were… trees. Billowing in the breeze. Tens of thousands of bright green leaves fluttering. And the sky. It seemed so vast. Sunlight was pouring through the cracks between grand white clouds. It seemed tangible, the light, suspended in the atmosphere in glorious golden rays.
You think about all the danger, and it seems small in comparison. If you could experience things like this, it was worth it. You continue down the hall and find another door. Just like the door to your cell, it’s unlocked. You push it open.
And you’re free.