The girl was fortunate to have not yet learned that the adult mind could be a brilliantly fortified prison. She was ignorant of the way that reality could bind someone like shackles; deliciously naïve of the complex maze of cells that kept one from ever finding their way back to where they’d been before. She didn’t know that a prison existed at all, or that there was even space for such cruelty within the world.
She didn’t realize that every child was destined to wander inside one day and choose a cell of their own; that there was no escaping the prison’s drab walls once they were inside of it. It was like a spider web, made of stone and memory instead of silk. And each prisoner supplied his or her own breed of hungry spider.
When the girl was young, she played with her brother in open spaces. Every tree was a castle, each creek or fractured stump an adventure to be claimed. She wore the earth upon her in chains of clover around her neck, grass-stains upon her knees, and pellets of soil between her toes.
Her brother liked to whoop and holler and chase her through the grass, wielding a stick with all the bravery of a sword. He was younger and smaller, fitting snugly into her skinny shadow. And she was the captain of his ship, the one who could read the stars and show him where to go.
One day, not so very different from all the rest, but irreparable all the same, barred gates appeared in their meadow. The girl was frightened. The gates were metal; menacing things, open like starving jaws. They gave her a strange feeling, as if her skin was too tight to contain her young bones.
She thought that she could hear voices calling to her, slipping between the bars like water through nets. Her brother, even more frightened than she, took her hand and tugged her away. They hid in the cramped hollow of a dead tree, and the boy pleaded, “Don’t go back there; it’s a trick. Stay with me.”
The moment he fell asleep, the girl heard their mother calling for her in the distance. Trembling, she poked her head out of the hollow tree, clutching her brother’s stick sword to her chest. Her mother’s voice rode the wind like a tufted dandelion seed, and she couldn’t mark its source.
Mere steps from the safety of their hiding place, the horrid prison rose suddenly in front of the girl once more. She dropped her sword to the dirt. There were roses wrapped around the bars, thorns gripping tight to hold their shape. She did not remember seeing flowers there before. Their perfume cloaked her and drew her closer; a single tentative step that changed everything.
Her mother’s voice came again, from deep within the gates. “Stop this foolishness and come inside. You must grow up, dear.”
When the girl looked back to the hollow tree where her brother slept, it was lost in a swirling fog. She could not even see the few steps that had led her from his side. She did not know how to get back, or what exactly she would be going back to. Suddenly she was eager for something different. Something that promised to be more.
The gate swung shut behind her when she stepped through, and the sound of it latching echoed long after the bars faded behind her.
“That’s it, well done. Not much farther now.” Her mother’s voice was gone as soon as it swept across her ears.
With no guidance, the girl wandered slowly through the courtyard, paved with stone that was cool and hard under her bare feet. An interior door swung open for her, polite because of its expectancy that she would obey.
With nowhere else to go, the girl continued forward. She knew it was expected of her. When an open door appeared in one’s path, it was one’s duty to see where it lead, wasn’t it? She had never before thought of duty. She wasn’t sure of its shapes and colors.
She didn’t know where it was leading.
The girl went through the door and into the prison. She passed through hundreds of hallways. Thousands of cells. People called polite “hellos” to her from behind their cages. Some had put curtains up. Others were pacing. Some congratulated her for making it. Others curled in the corner and wept as she passed by.
At last, she found an empty cell. Though she had never been there, it seemed to reflect her essence, her goals. Duty had pointed to this place exactly, she was sure of it. It was clean and bare. There was a single window. She had the thought that she would need to find drapes for it immediately. It wouldn’t do to leave it exposed to the wild world outside.
The girl went eagerly inside the cell. She closed the door behind her. She broke the chain of clover around her neck and tossed it into one corner. It probably had bugs in it; she didn’t want them crawling on her. She wanted things to be tidy.
The cell became her life; it confined her to the possibilities allowed within. Business was conducted, relationships constructed and altered, lives fortified. It was all a very strict and tidy business. No one’s feet ever got dirty. No swords were needed.
It wasn’t until the girl had become an old woman that she began to see the prison for what it really was. And she began to cry.
She had come willingly. Her mother had told her it was time. But all she felt now was regret. There was a chasm of years stretching behind her, and no bridge to take her back. She had traded the infinite galaxies of youth for the cramped assurances of adulthood. She had closed her mind, walled herself in, made things stable and comfortable. She had lived her life within a voluntary prison. She had committed no crime except conformity.
The old woman threw herself against the bars, rattling them and crying out in terror. She had never checked whether the door was locked, never even cared to know. Not in all her years. But now it was as if the sands of time had patiently scraped away at
its ancient hinges, and the door would not budge an inch to save her.
She was trapped. A fly stuck in a spider’s web. A fate that was even more horrible for such a desperate, sentient fly. The complacent ones barely noticed the web at all.
She resolved to sit by the bars and watch newcomers shuffle by, aimlessly searching for their place in the prison without direction or foresight. She kept up a steady cadence, muttering under her breath. The eager passerby scarcely realized she was speaking at all.
“Don’t stay,” she repeated, over and over again, until death rose up to claim her with gruesome finality. “It’s a trick.”
She didn’t realize that every child was destined to wander inside one day and choose a cell of their own; that there was no escaping the prison’s drab walls once they were inside of it. It was like a spider web, made of stone and memory instead of silk. And each prisoner supplied his or her own breed of hungry spider.
When the girl was young, she played with her brother in open spaces. Every tree was a castle, each creek or fractured stump an adventure to be claimed. She wore the earth upon her in chains of clover around her neck, grass-stains upon her knees, and pellets of soil between her toes.
Her brother liked to whoop and holler and chase her through the grass, wielding a stick with all the bravery of a sword. He was younger and smaller, fitting snugly into her skinny shadow. And she was the captain of his ship, the one who could read the stars and show him where to go.
One day, not so very different from all the rest, but irreparable all the same, barred gates appeared in their meadow. The girl was frightened. The gates were metal; menacing things, open like starving jaws. They gave her a strange feeling, as if her skin was too tight to contain her young bones.
She thought that she could hear voices calling to her, slipping between the bars like water through nets. Her brother, even more frightened than she, took her hand and tugged her away. They hid in the cramped hollow of a dead tree, and the boy pleaded, “Don’t go back there; it’s a trick. Stay with me.”
The moment he fell asleep, the girl heard their mother calling for her in the distance. Trembling, she poked her head out of the hollow tree, clutching her brother’s stick sword to her chest. Her mother’s voice rode the wind like a tufted dandelion seed, and she couldn’t mark its source.
Mere steps from the safety of their hiding place, the horrid prison rose suddenly in front of the girl once more. She dropped her sword to the dirt. There were roses wrapped around the bars, thorns gripping tight to hold their shape. She did not remember seeing flowers there before. Their perfume cloaked her and drew her closer; a single tentative step that changed everything.
Her mother’s voice came again, from deep within the gates. “Stop this foolishness and come inside. You must grow up, dear.”
When the girl looked back to the hollow tree where her brother slept, it was lost in a swirling fog. She could not even see the few steps that had led her from his side. She did not know how to get back, or what exactly she would be going back to. Suddenly she was eager for something different. Something that promised to be more.
The gate swung shut behind her when she stepped through, and the sound of it latching echoed long after the bars faded behind her.
“That’s it, well done. Not much farther now.” Her mother’s voice was gone as soon as it swept across her ears.
With no guidance, the girl wandered slowly through the courtyard, paved with stone that was cool and hard under her bare feet. An interior door swung open for her, polite because of its expectancy that she would obey.
With nowhere else to go, the girl continued forward. She knew it was expected of her. When an open door appeared in one’s path, it was one’s duty to see where it lead, wasn’t it? She had never before thought of duty. She wasn’t sure of its shapes and colors.
She didn’t know where it was leading.
The girl went through the door and into the prison. She passed through hundreds of hallways. Thousands of cells. People called polite “hellos” to her from behind their cages. Some had put curtains up. Others were pacing. Some congratulated her for making it. Others curled in the corner and wept as she passed by.
At last, she found an empty cell. Though she had never been there, it seemed to reflect her essence, her goals. Duty had pointed to this place exactly, she was sure of it. It was clean and bare. There was a single window. She had the thought that she would need to find drapes for it immediately. It wouldn’t do to leave it exposed to the wild world outside.
The girl went eagerly inside the cell. She closed the door behind her. She broke the chain of clover around her neck and tossed it into one corner. It probably had bugs in it; she didn’t want them crawling on her. She wanted things to be tidy.
The cell became her life; it confined her to the possibilities allowed within. Business was conducted, relationships constructed and altered, lives fortified. It was all a very strict and tidy business. No one’s feet ever got dirty. No swords were needed.
It wasn’t until the girl had become an old woman that she began to see the prison for what it really was. And she began to cry.
She had come willingly. Her mother had told her it was time. But all she felt now was regret. There was a chasm of years stretching behind her, and no bridge to take her back. She had traded the infinite galaxies of youth for the cramped assurances of adulthood. She had closed her mind, walled herself in, made things stable and comfortable. She had lived her life within a voluntary prison. She had committed no crime except conformity.
The old woman threw herself against the bars, rattling them and crying out in terror. She had never checked whether the door was locked, never even cared to know. Not in all her years. But now it was as if the sands of time had patiently scraped away at
its ancient hinges, and the door would not budge an inch to save her.
She was trapped. A fly stuck in a spider’s web. A fate that was even more horrible for such a desperate, sentient fly. The complacent ones barely noticed the web at all.
She resolved to sit by the bars and watch newcomers shuffle by, aimlessly searching for their place in the prison without direction or foresight. She kept up a steady cadence, muttering under her breath. The eager passerby scarcely realized she was speaking at all.
“Don’t stay,” she repeated, over and over again, until death rose up to claim her with gruesome finality. “It’s a trick.”
