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Source: https://imgflip.com/i/kole9

Part of Section 2 of What If?

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Part of Section 2 of What If?

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What If? Part 2

An arching silhouette emerges, a groan escaping his lips. He is enveloped with darkness. His eyes map the room but he manages to only see an outline of a rectangle with a scarlet glow. What the? His head turn to fully see the outline and he holds himself up by pushing against the floor. The floor is as cold as an iceberg and as smooth as the aged cobble stone streets in Rome. He flings himself forward only to face plant against the wet floor. He runs his hands around his feet; there is no super glue, what is going on?  He attempts to stand up but a sharp, burning sensation pulsed through his leg as if someone took a knife heated by a thousand degrees to it. Veins in his forehead throbs from the pain, which is the last thing he felt before seeing the night blur and make a collage with the red outline and finally nothing.

“Why?!” He yells. His hazel eyes sparkle with hope toward the scarlet outline. The glowing hue cascades a red tint on something metallic that is attached to the rectangle. A grin is etched onto his face and a low erratic laugh emerges. He reaches his left arm out and began to crawl. Each of his arms sways creating traction to pull his body. Water soaks his shirt and a bitter breeze hugs onto his face and hands. His fingers and the right side of his face sparkle white as if snowflakes are glued onto him. Regardless of the pain of freezing and the searing pain in his leg, he continues forward toward to what looks like a door. I need to get out! He keeps repeating this thought over like the radio playing the number one hit song a hundred times a day. He reaches out every time, imagining that the door is next until his blue fingers graze against the splinter-ridden door. Finally! Let me see, is standing an option? He grasps onto the doorknob and slowly gets up, his legs shaking violently. Once he is steady on his feet, he turns the knob only for it to turn in circles. His fist collides with the door but nothing happened. He places his hands in his pockets but ends up brushing against something that is slender and thin like a pin. He takes out his right hand and surely enough, there is a gleaming black pin resting in his palm. Repetitive, maniacal laughter escapes his mouth as he whispers:

“Why wait for doors when you can take action immediately?” He kneels on one leg to get the doorknob into his line of sight. He inserts the pin and twists it. The door flings open and he dashes inside. The door slams shut and the only thing that can be heard is a ghastly male scream. What is the purpose to wait for something that you do not know if it will be beneficial to you? Rash decisions caused me my downfall.

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When you realize your only escape is not what it seems. Part of Section 1 of What If?

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Source: http://www.pogu.co.uk/blog/tips-walking-home-dark-nights

Making decisions is a lonesome job but we all have to do it. Part of Section 1 of What if?

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What If? Part 1

I flutter my eyes open; everything is a blurry haze. Darkness surrounds me like water; as if I am sitting at the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean. I regain my focus to only see nothing. My sights are traded in for hearing and through listening to the hollowness of silence and the cold; I realize that I am in an empty, contained room. I pull my knees up and hug my legs, confusion races through my mind. As my eyes adjust, I see a flickering outline of what seems like a door. I tried getting up but if feels like my legs weigh like a ton of bricks. All I end up doing is straining myself to the point that it feels like my muscles want to rip. I reach my shaken hands forward and on the chilly floor. Any heat that was in my hands seeps from my hands out onto the floor in a slow pace like pooling blood. I can hear my veins constricting, almost like crackling glass, and turning into frost. Despite being removed from the commotions of life, I find a sense of will igniting within. Though I fail to stand, I crawl toward the fragmented outline. Each time my hands brush against the floor, chills creep through the tips of my fingers to my spine, which sends trembles to my brain. Where am I? That is a question that floats in my subconscious but I am too focused to reflect on my surroundings. My fingers brush the coarse wooden door. The yellow, red and orange flickering light alludes to warmth but all I feel is loneliness. This is my chance to escape, the outlines of hope glimmer into my icy blue eyes. My muscles wobble as if I am standing in the trembles of an earthquake. Time is like draining molasses from a container; slowly dribbling out and never ending. I manage to straighten myself and I fiddle with the doorknob. I let it go as the rusty knob turns in circles.

           Why?! I feel my mouth opening to let out a scream and I hear the echo but I never felt the actual words leaving my lips. My fists are clenched into ghostly white orbs and my head lean against the door.

           I just want to get out. My words float into the confined universe that I am stuck in. I step back and gaze blindly at the outlines. Thoughts slither into my mind; thoughts that make me rethink my eagerness to escape. What is actually behind this door? Hope? Death? Should I wait? I shudder and take another step back. I lean toward the creaks to get a sneak peak of what is behind the door. Besides the fiery backdrop, I do not see anything. I hear laughter and crying. What is the purpose to wait for something that you do not know if it will be beneficial to you? Waiting saved me rather than rash decisions.

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I’d be eager to escape a maze as well. Part of Methodical Escape. 

Source: https://tenor.com/view/scooby-doo-scooby-shaggy-run-gif-4055105

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Source: https://pixabay.com/en/doors-choices-choose-open-decision-1767564/

What the rats endured in Methodical Escape.

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Methodical Escape

Let me give you a scenario: A giant metallic maze shimmers in the dull lights. The multiple pathways make it seem as complicated as the inner workings of Big Ben. At the Northern end, there lay an open field with glittering rivers and plantation that are emerald green. Even the air here smells like fresh cinnamon buns that came from the oven. At the Southern end of the maze, there are three frantic, fuzzy and cautious rats. Each one is locked in a small cage looking out at the entry of the maze. They scratch the floor, leaving dents in it as fear is emitting from their eyes. A buzzer sounds and the clunky doors move upward. All three rats move out and are greeted with another set of doors. They glance at each other but prefer to stay mute. One rat, pure white except for a black dot on the tip of its tail, settles in front of the next door. Waiting helped open the first door, so why should this one be any different? As he waits, the other two rats move from the closed set of doors to see if there are any open ones. The second rat, with a cut in his ear, spots an open door and dash through it without a second thought. The door closed with a force that rumbled the ground. The rat with the cut looks behind him, a brow raised but he immediately races off again. The second door he went through, held a piece of cheese. This rat continues racing into doors; unknowing that it is heading straight back to the start. The third with cream coloured fur, inch toward an open door. He sniffs at the hinges and peaks his head to the left and right. Diagonally from him there is a big piece of cheese. The cream coloured rat scurry toward that door and proceed to sniff and inspect all other doors. Looking from a bird’s eye view, the cream coloured rat zigzags forward, receiving special prizes consisting of gourmet cheese. Even though he strays from the middle at times, he always comes back to the center path. Time passes by like a leaf on a rapid river. The rat with the cut ear finds himself in the cage again; as if he had never left. Meanwhile the dotted rat is half way into the maze and the cream coloured rat nuzzles on the grassy field.

Just like the dotted rat, it is unlikely to reach the goal of freedom and he received minimal rewards. Just like the rat with the cut and his blind running, it is likely to end at square one again. The rewards could be plentiful but mean nothing when progress does not occur. Like the cream coloured rat, being calculative guarantees the goal with special rewards that were not expected. Now think of it this way: If we are the rats, then who studies our methods to reach the goal? Which rat are we?