The Platinum Card
The frigid air blew as bone shattering cold as the winter in The Call of the Wild, effectively knocking his round glasses right off his red nose. As the hired taxi sped away down the dangerous dark mountain curves, the man turned around and scanned his surroundings. He shifted the platinum card from hand to hand as a way to calm his nerves. He could just make out from the light of the stars a crystal clear river snaking across the earth’s floor two thousand feet below him, while triangles of enormous white rock jutted from the ground to the sky.  The moon slowly drifted from under the clouds’ heavy white blanket and shone its white, pure light directly on a piece of rock jutting out of the cliff, which was just inches from falling hundreds of miles per hour to its death. And so the man continued walking straight toward the cliff.
Silence hung in the air like a giant cobweb. However, the tranquility could not last indefinitely. The birds chirped. The leaves rustled. Twigs broke. And nature thrived. There was no sign of human pollution, noise, or activity—anywhere. The man appeared unfazed and continued walking straight toward the cliff.
The man appeared tall and lean, and the glasses might have led to the assumption of him being a nerd or a bookworm.  Yet as he again pulled the platinum card from his hand-crafted Italian Versache suit and looked down at his Rolex Daytona to see that the time was half past dawn, the nerdy boy transformed into a hardworking self-made man. The man stood in the shadows, just inches from the edge of the cliff. The man stood silently, calculating, studying, and ever-so-slightly swept his foot over the smooth rock. BINGGGGGG! His silver studded shoe clamored against another immovable force— a tiny round tree stump. The man looked back and forth between the stump and his platinum card, studying both intently until there was a slight twinkle in his eyes. He carefully leaned down and inserted the regular sized platinum playing card into an almost invisible crevice in the stump. This new problem-solver pushed the perfectly aligned card all the way in the stump. CLINKKK! A mechanical sound that seemed like gears clogged below him, churning and shifting as fast as possible.  The man, slightly relieved but still unsatisfied, continued walking straight toward the cliff.
And then he fell. The man spread his hands into a sky-diving pose as if he had done this before, while continually looking at rocks and boulders whooshing by to his left and right so he wouldn’t have to deal with the real problem at hand—the unmoving ground. The ground moved closer and closer and closer every second, its reddish dirt floor and two boulders that resembled claws making it appear as a giant lobster waiting patiently to eat its helpless victim.
But Red Lobster would go hungry tonight. The man focused his thoughts back to the day he received the golden envelope, with the platinum card and the bronzed penny. Besides the geographic coordinates, something else had been inscribed on the paper. Something odd. Something far-fetched: Trust Yourself. This some-what comforting thought soothed the man’s panicked brain and his thumping heart. With this promise in mind, he gently closed his eyes.
And he fell. SCHOOOOO! Red Lobster was approaching so close the man could almost smell its foul breath. The air felt warmer on his skin, rustling across the hairs on his arm like a tropical island breeze. A white light shone directly in his face. He thought this was it. The end. It would be game over without a happy ever after. Is this really how he envisioned himself going out as?
But then it hit him—literally. Millions of pounds of force slammed into his lower abdomen, turning his guts inside out. After a few minutes of extreme dog-like hyperventilation, he eased his eyes open and gazed at that white light he thought was death only to see it was the sun rising. The man looked down and smirked, as if to say how lucky he was that he was saved or to tell Red Lobster to find another snack. But what had saved him? He looked down at his feet and slowly rose, and noticed he stood on an enlarged fishing net, built to blend in with the air and withstand lots of weight. At least the card was true to its word, he thought.
But recovery time was over. His beady eyes began calculating and observing every crevice and hole, as well as keeping a lookout for more fishing nets. Directly across from his net he noticed a ledge just big enough for one person. Without thinking twice, the man jumped the five foot gap between the net and the ledge without looking down, all before his palms could get sweaty and his heart to start pounding. However, the man was more of a bookworm than an athlete, and probably should have thought twice. He had completely underestimated the distance, and stretched as far as he could to barely grab hold of the edge of the ledge. With his bulging muscles that had been toned from years and years of holding books, he pulled himself up and greeted his new surroundings. He could see farther than a bald eagle, and the rocks looked older being closer, and the river appeared bigger and swifter, as he was now only a couple hundred feet from the ground floor.
The man had no time to dwell and observe. He was a warrior on a quest, not a tourist on a vacation. The man slowly turned around, foot over foot to be sure not to fall, and noticed another slit in the ground. However, this tiny opening was much smaller than the tree stump’s crack. The man carefully took out the bronzed penny from his now dusty black jacket and pushed it into the hole. CLINKKK! A mechanical sound that seemed like gears clogged below him, churning and shifting as fast as possible.  A lid unscrewed itself counter-clockwise, forming a man hole dug into the mountain right next to him. But this time he thought twice. He could either fall to his death and hope another net would catch him, or he could jump into a mysterious hole. He concluded that a journey of one thousand steps must begin with a single slide.
And so he slid. The tube sloped in an extreme angle, as if the man was going further into the mountain. The tunnel continually bent and morphed into various angles taken from a geometry textbook, as if to maintain the slider at a constant speed. The man’s eyes, wide open in constant search for light, still scanned the walls, calculating. But then he eased his eyes shut and thought only of the two words: Trust Yourself. But what did that mean? As soon as the thought appeared, it disappeared as he squeezed his eyes tighter and tried to focus on nothing.
Only seconds later, the slope started increasing and his speed started decreasing. This was it. He must have arrived. But where?
The end of the slide opened up into a small cavern. The man pushed himself off the ground and walked towards the far wall, which seemed to be shaped like a door. Behind his now-cracked glasses, the man’s eyes gleamed with a fire of determination—one that would remain lit until it torched everything it desired to destroy. CCCCSHHHKKK! The sound of metal grinding against metal engulfed the room, and the wall the man suspected was the door creaked open as fast as a snail. As soon as the door opened an inch, brilliant white light mixed with flashes of rainbows flooded into the room, cleansing the mind and purifying the eyes like locusts in the Nile. The man, with an extra jump in his step and more twinkles in his eyes, quickly walked to the edge, trying to get out as soon as possible. As he took his last step out of the cavern he stopped his foot in midair. He looked down and noticed a four inch sharp nail protruding from the surface of the ground. But how had he known it was there?
Once again, the man closed his eyes, squeezed them tight, and refocused on the new ground left to explore—for his quest was far from over. The man glanced side to side, up and down, and carefully observed his surroundings. Yet this was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The cavern opened up onto a horizontal field almost as long as a football field, with carved mountain walls climbing a hundred feet above the ground he stood on.  In the center of the domed rock roof was a room-size sheet of diamond, intricately carved with many levels to form a complex spherical shape which appeared to be a mix between a double helix and the model of an atom. The sun’s reflection on this centerpiece caused rays of brilliant rainbow light to be projected across the whole field, bent across the unmoving building, and reflected off the beautiful pool of water. The water resembled a medieval moat, stretching around the massive library like a python squeezing its prey, with the diamond ceiling causing distinct colors of the water aligned in a repeating rainbow pattern, accurately resembling the light spectrum. 
The now astonished man, doubting he could be even more amazed, glanced ahead and remembered the reason he had come. The building, to simply state, was clearly the biggest, largest, tallest, and even prettiest building he or anyone else had ever laid eyes upon—it was the Lochness Monster of the ocean, the Goliath of men, the T-Rex of dinosaurs, the Olympus of the gods. The fortress expanded over the length of five hundred feet and stood two times as high. The apex of this giant stood barely under the carved mountain’s roof, yet the back end of the building stretched further and further until it became one with the rock. The magnificent structure resembled a modified Disney castle, with prominent domes and carved stone roofs, large arching windows and stain glasses, and outdoor balconies protruding from each floor. The man excitedly yet cautiously picked up his feet and approached the moat, always gazing straight at the massive transparent brick roofed building, looking strangely paranoid and amazed simultaneously. The man walked quickly and intently studied the massive oak door and its knocker—a pure diamond that constantly changed shapes from a dragon, to a snake, to a horse. The man gave up the idea of trying to restrain himself, to calm himself, to trust himself and sprinted at the door knocker. This shape shifter diamond consumed his thoughts, making him thirst for the knowledge of what it was and how it worked—and maybe, if no one was looking, it could be his own, his precious. The man kept running, faster and faster and ignored his aching legs and tired body until—BAM! The man flipped headfirst onto the pillow of grass and was pulled down the hill by gravity, closer and closer into the forgotten moat. The red water shined brightly in his face as he rapidly descended down the steep river bank against his will. Massive dark fins swam from other parts of the river as he accidently cut himself on a loose rock trying to find a handhold. He was seconds from splashing head-first into the dangerous water, from being eaten alive, from dying.
But maybe tomorrow was his day—just not today. His hawk-eye vision noticed a long vine extending down to the river bank. The man continued sliding and stretched his arms as high as possible and lifted himself off the water’s shore, over the finned creatures, and straight towards the other side. After the man successfully took some time to climb up the opposite shore’s steep bank, the man turned around and observed his savior. Hundreds of vines hung in a shadow below a massive moss bridge fifty feet above, where two ancient redwood trees bended across each other and stretched twenty yards across the massive moat. The man cautiously walked on the soft green grass to the end of the unique bridge, where a transparent glass statue rose ten feet tall. The woman in the statue looked powerful, with broad shoulders and a stern face—no not face, faces. Actually, three women stood in a triangle, joined together as one, with wise eyes and a young face. The woman/women held a polecat and carried a black she-dog. However, the man saw her one second—and then she disappeared. The cycle of disappearance and reappearance continued, and the man wondered if maybe he had hit his head too hard. But unknown to the man, the ancient statue had specialized glass, which holds the image of the sky right behind it for one second and its true look the next. The man, unsure of this magical statue, wanted to keep moving but something made him linger. Should he turn back? The man turned around and remembered a name— Hecate. This must be the name of the statue, but how had he known that? He had never seen the statue before. It was almost like de ja vu, as if he had been here before. He then remembered that Hecate was the goddess of magic—and crossroads. Was this statue trying to tell him to turn back?
No. he couldn’t. He cleared all these overwhelming thoughts from his mind, and relied only on trusting himself. The man walked away from the bridge, from the river, from the crossroads and put his foot down on the path straight to the majestic garden—a yellow brick road. He pinched himself and knew this was no dream. A majestic trimmed hedge with an extension of slanted trees formed a beautiful canopy, effectively shading the yellow brick road. The man was only a couple hundred feet from his ultimate destination when he noticed the fruit. The large, juicy red apples loomed just in reach, making him realize just how hungry he was. As he slowly walked towards it, thinking of how amazing and satisfied he would feel just after one big, crunchy bite, he saw a tiny fly land on his apple. Before he could react, a cobra as long as an eighteen wheeler struck at god-speed, instantly killing the fly without blemishing the appealing apple at all.
Suddenly he lost his appetite. What if that had been him? Was everything in this place trying to kill him? He mentally regrouped and intensely focused in walking one hundred feet straight to the shielded oaken door, one step at a time. Without another calamity, the man carefully stepped up and onto the door step. He reached down for the handle—but only grabbed empty space. But the handle was still there. He looked straight down at the handle again, careful not to accidently miss it, and grabbed empty space again. But this time he saw it. The door had moved and was replaced with a new door faster than the eye could blink. The door knocker was also replaced, shifting from a monkey to a rooster to a dog. The man strained his eyes open and observed twelve different knockers, twelve animals, twelve doors. The cycle started with the dragon—and then it hit him. There was a cycle twelve years, and these animals must represent the Chinese New Year.
The man looked up to the ceiling for an answer when he noticed another statue. At the top of this oaken door were two chubby faces carved from stone—one had a hardened and mean expression, and the other looked jovial and affable. The faces were conjoined at the neck, and instantly reminded the man of the devil and angle on people’s shoulders when making decisions. Yet this was the same person that loomed in front of him, just in a different form. This was Janus, the god of choice, the god of two doors, where one holds fortune and the other misery. Yet he had twelve doors—one with good fortune, and the other eleven with misery. So naturally, he closed his eyes, trusted himself, and reached for the door handle, hoping he would open the one with the dragon knocker— the symbol of his birth year. If not, then he would never find out if he died tomorrow.
WHOOOOOSH! The man went body-first through the mysterious door into another dark room. As he pushed off the slippery ground, wiped his wet glasses, and squeezed out the excess water in his shirt, he rotated 180 degrees and stared directly at a pure white waterfall, flowing from the top of the back of the door to the bottom. A tiny trickle of water leaked from this unusual sight, and drops echoed across wall after wall, staircase after staircase, book after book, floor after floor, puncturing the natural silence with artificial noise. The man looked up to find the ceiling of this dark building not with his eyes but his ears, hearing the echo of water go up and up and up for minutes. The man unzipped his custom-made inside pocket of his Versache and took out Apple’s newest unreleased phone to use a flashlight. He clicked it on. It remained black. He clicked it on again. It remained black. He clicked it in rapid-fire, releasing all his built-up frustration out onto the phone. And it remained black. On the verge of madness, the man hurled the phone through the waterfall and at the door, causing phone shrapnel to deflect across the room like random rays of lights reflecting off a mirror. But it still remained black. The man stroked his beard and remembered using his phone before he entered the fortress. And in his gut he knew that this merely was not a means of “running out of battery”, but something, like the waterfall, or someone did not want cell phones or any technology at all in the building. Thus, no SWAT team would burst through the windows and save him from dying today or tomorrow. It was just him, and his drenched Versache suit.
But the man was tired of games. He was tired of being a puppet in a life-threating play, a gladiator in the high stakes Roman Empire, a Katniss in the Hunger Games, who all were sent on a mission of high reward but low probability. He was tired of only having the advice “trust yourself”. And he wanted to change it. The man blindly walked a few feet with his hands out in front and felt a wall, a door, and of course, a door handle. Oh how he missed door handles, he thought.
Second thoughts whirled through his mind faster than a tornado. What if this was a trap? But the man was tired of being controlled. He didn’t care if he was a mouse crawling straight into a box. All he wanted was the cheese. And so he turned the handle, gently pushed the wooden door forward, and walked straight into another world.
The black cavern the size of a mudroom opened up to the largest circular room he had ever seen, spanning the width of an entire high school. Young adults milled in the vast space in chairs, the train, the café, or the astroturf in the middle.
CaClunk,CAClunk,CACLUNK!
COOOO,Cooo,coo!
WHOOOOOSh,WHOOSH,Whoosh,woosh!
Dooduhdoo dadadoooooh.
BEEEP, Beep, beep.
Buuuuummmmmmmmmmmm!
The life size train guzzled along the outside perimeter of the massive circular room, ringing its horn and spraying water vapor smoke as it lifted various well-dressed people off to wherever they desired.
Pure white pigeons dove left and right, up and down, over shelves and under chairs delivering tiny scrolls to people in chairs or even to those riding the trolley. 
New crisp page after page turned frequently over and over from the hands of those in the library.
A massive grand piano with Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone in a slot at the bottom played the famous theme song by itself, filling the room with a peaceful melody.
The blaring alarm pierced the air for a split second to sound to the guests the arrival of fresh new coffee—but no one moved.
As the alarm shut off, a massive vibration shuddered through the room, signaling the start of a new hour.
Elaborate wood-cut desks, comfy leather bound benches and glass dining tables littered this mass of space like schools of fish in the deep blue sea. But no one sat in the desks, drank the coffee, or lounged on the couches. Out of this whole massive space, this alien library was mainly empty. In the middle stood the main attraction: the clock tower. Exponentially taller than Big Ben, this pure gold traditionally-shaped tower stretched to the ceiling of the hundreds of feet tall building, with its glass tip reflecting sunlight all across the floor below from the sunlight shining through the glass ceiling above. The massive black clock-face rotated backward, left, and right on the four sides, making time hard to tell, as if the library was intentionally designed to never make a person leave.
The man noticed something moving to the side, and turned to see the same small train, carrying the same lackadaisical readers, traveling on the same track as before—except it wasn’t. The rail had risen ten feet in the air, and the train kept rolling, as if this happened day after day. The man shifted his gaze above the elevated tracks, and noticed more tracks on the side of the clock tower going up and up and up hundreds of feet to the top. This was like something out of a children’s book. He pinched himself again, and something told him that this wouldn’t be the last time. Giant X’s floated through thin air as if the laws of gravity didn’t apply anymore, but as he looked closer he noticed these moving glass panels had little ridges in them—like stairs. And so he looked up once again, this time ignoring the clock tower, and did a quick 360.
Books. Books everywhere. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. And more. Shelf after shelf, floor after floor, genre after genre, author after author they rose as high as the clock tower, each with a tiny printed number on it bound in the same leather as all the rest. The four walls resembled an ocean with a sea of books and a light bluish tint. The man recalled from previous reading that the color blue soothes and calms the mind, making it easier to read (“Psychology”). But how was any of this possible? The man fixed his glasses, rendered an angry look, and demanded answers. So he walked straight to the front desk
Without second thoughts, the man hurried through the vast seating area and pushed through the occasional slow and almost unmoving people to arrive at the clock tower. And under all its enormity stood a tiny little desk—hardly the size of a librarian’s desk. The desk, tacky and out of place, was composed of all stone, no drawers, and certainly no computers. A map of a beautiful planet without any borders or lines was engraved into the stone, making it stand out even more. And in front of the desk stood a beautiful bronze fountain, its water falling into a pool of water filled with pennies. From a deep brown to a rustic back, the pennies remained year after year, as if waiting to be picked up. On cue, the man rolled his Versache up off his left arm and fished for a penny. His tiny brown trout was not just a penny—but a map. The number 638719 remained engraved in the metal.
“I bet you’re wondering what that means?” a voice called out.
The man turned and looked at the desk, and out from under the desk hobbled a small old woman. But the man spent little time observing the penny after he saw her. The librarian stood hunched over at the nice height of four feet, with her frail body held together by a thread, her long shriveled neck and equally ugly face blown out of proportion when one looked at the eyes: bottomless black pits of death. Her long wavy white hair fell down to her shoulders, and a microscopic pair of cracked eyeglasses sat on top of the world’s biggest and ugliest hooked nose.  But most shocking of all, despite all the blemishes, was the 500 carat honker diamond that she wore as jewelry on her left hand. The man studied the diamond and realized that this was the same magical diamond in the ceilings and doorknobs that he had previously encountered. But how had he known that?
Big Nose walked around her unmoving center of power and stood to face the man, with a sly grin and a slight chuckle emerging from her tiny mouth.
“What’s it mean?” replied the flustered man after a considerable amount of time had gone by since he first heard the lady.
“It refers to the book it wants you to read, my friend. And so we meet again, Sergei Alexander Nishov the third,” she said.
“How’d you know my name?!” the man shouted.
“Oh don’t play stupid with me boy,” she snarled. “How do you think you survived the journey here. How come you are so smart and made of millions. Hmmm? It was me! I made you who you are today!”
“What are you talking about lady?” the man replied. “You’re crazy. I’ve never even met you and I don’t want to. Now show me the way out and I’ll be on my way.”
The woman chuckled. “But how could you not remember a whole year of your life? Oh you poor soul. If only you had stayed here. Everything would’ve been much betterrrr.”
The frail lady moved forward like a snake striking a mouse, and her diamond ring hit the man like the fangs piercing the fur. And he collapsed.
He saw an image of himself. Younger, fitter, smarter. But this avatar walked in a trance, up and down moving stairs reading book after book, like he was just a forgotten treasure box accumulating dust.
The scene shifted. His other self now had a full grown beard, but his eyes looked blacker and sadder, like his life was slipping away from him out of his control. The man climbed the moving staircases to almost the very top of the ceiling. As he stepped across staircases, one suddenly moved. His foot slipped—and his body plummeted. He was brought down to his death by gravity, only to at the last second grab hold of a falling vine, and reduce his terminal velocity. But his velocity then terminated as the vine failed to stop him from hitting the ground—head first.
The scene lost focus and he began to slowly wash ashore on the banks of consciousness. But as he began to stir, the man saw in the haze his younger self rise up—and run.
The man sat up quickly. He clenched his fists. His eyes turned red. He was fuming. He was mad. He wanted answers. And he wanted them now.
“What did you do to me!?” he demanded.
The librarian pursed her lips. “I built you. You studied under my rule. Then I released you to go and become the greedy monster you were always meant to be, the pompous know-it-all who makes people hate him because of his brain. I made you smarter and millions of dollars.”
“But why?” the man dropped his serious face. He was suddenly intrigued by the story, like a kid watching Scooby-Doo solve a mystery.
“Well why of course my dear,” the librarian said. “Why did you become a millionaire? Why are you not the only one in this position? Well because you aren’t the only one that wants the money. I made you who you are! And I need some payment for it. So every year, you give me a large portion of your profits, which is secretly taken out of your accounts. Isn’t that a great con?”
“But why? That money isn’t yours!” he bellowed.
The woman chuckled. “Of course it is, you silly child. And I need it. It’s what keeps this place going. And it’s what makes me queen under the mountain.”
The man looked like he had been stabbed in the heart. All of the years of his hard-work and this undeserving witch just steals it. He was mad now, fuming. He tried to relax, fixed his glasses, and looked down at his watch. He needed to leave. But it was still the same time as when he had walked in. But how?
Big Nose’s voice shattered his thoughts just like an earthquake destroying a house. “Oh, that won’t work in here sweetie. Looks like it’s just you and me.” She faked a smile and waved her hand like she was calling a dog.
“Come,” she beckoned. “I’ll show you what your generous…donations…have bought us.”
The man wanted to get up and just leave. But he felt like there was something he had to see. So he got up and followed the crazy old hag.
It seemed like the old lady’s mouth worked better than her legs. As they walked, the lady babbled on and on about the uniqueness of her library.    
“The lost art stolen by the Nazis from all over Europe hangs on these very walls, with paintings as old as Van Gogh still preserved,” she started. “Of course, I’ve done my research and know to hold room temperature at no more than seventy degrees mainly for the older books, to make sure the fragile pages don’t crumble (“Ogden”). Did I mention I have a copy of every book in the whole world in this one location?”
The old lady bumbled on and on and on and on about her favorite books, and how older classics were superior to new hit series like Twilight. The two walked around the edge of the massive living room, careful to avoid readers sliding down vines or jumping onto trains. Finally, Big Nose managed to make it to the end of the living room to the back wall—one massive sized rock that functioned as a bookcase. Without hesitation, the old lady jumped onto a moving staircase and rode up to the seventh floor. She then walked across the floor to the seven hundred and seventy-seventh book, which appeared to have the title A Brave New World inscribed on the cover. The old lady quickly looked back at the man, receiving a stern and serious glare in return. The woman turned back and gently pressed Huxley’s book forward. The books shook. The floor trembled. And the wall moved.
Suddenly, standing in front of the man was a sight he would never forget. The back wall had slowly slid open to reveal a back porch as wide as a basketball court and as long as the beach. Real light shone on his skin, warming his hair and soothing his mind. Colors of the rainbow dotted the horizon: green trees, red roses, deep blue water, and a yellow sun. Familiar mountains rose from the countryside. Nature polluted the scene, leaving only one thing missing—humans. Not a trace of litter, noise, or even a distant airplane flying by was seen. The man observed the pure stone deck, with dogs running around and a majestic garden floating from the ceiling, filling the air with a strong soothing scent. The back porch sat above a miniature waterfall, its pure white water flowing down the same route, day after day after day. The man saw a shimmer of light, and looked to see the stone walls blend in with the trees surrounding it, acting as a form of camouflage. The scent of coffee wafted over to the porch along with the sound of people gracefully flipping through a book, as if they were carefully painting a picture that they knew they could never finish. But it didn’t matter. All he wanted to do was curl up on one of the nice leather couches and read—read until he could read no more.
“I’m betting you’re wondering why I brought you out here?”  Her creaky voice broke the man’s wandering thoughts and refocused him on his real goal—to get out. But the man didn’t respond. He just nodded.
“This library is my life,” she said. “I am serving the world a good purpose. I have saved all the books in the world under one roof. The world may collapse tomorrow. This library is for the greater good.”
  The man sneered. He didn’t believe a word she said. “Oh yeah? So you stealing money from people is for the greater good?”
The woman chuckled again. Was this amusing to her?
“Oh honey,” she replied. “I only steal from those that can afford it—the millionaires. But they get their money back because they are sent platinum invitations to come see what their money has bought them!” She put on her fake smile again, like she was a salesperson trying to sell a Volkswagen to Bill Gates.
“So they can die just trying to get here?!” the man responded.
“Oh dear, people come and go. But books last forever. And this sanctuary, due to your contribution, will stand indefinitely.”
All of the sudden, the deep hum of the clock tower’s gong echoed throughout the mountain. The nagging plants gently swayed side to side, just like the man’s eyes. The smell of coffee greeted him. His eyes gently shut. The flutter of pages turning calmed his mind. A gentle breeze from the pigeons’ wings blew over his hair, rippling it like waves in water. This place wasn’t so bad, he thought. He could stay here and read and read and read. His eyes closed even further. This could be his home. He could stay her day after day after….
The scene changed. The man stirred awake and observed his surroundings. But he could barely move his head. He felt tired, exhausted—fragile. He was moving faster than usual, and looked down to see he was pushed in a wheelchair by the frail old lady. No, NO, NOOOOO. How could he have let his guard down like that? This could not be happening, he thought. He had to get out. He tried to lift himself out of the seat, but a belt strapped him firmly in place. Where was he going? He tried to move his legs, his hands, his head. But it was no good; his arms felt like jelly. He focused on channeling all his energy at once into moving. Into getting out. Into freeing himself.
He jumped out of his confinements, out of the disabled wheelchair and out of his trance. He turned to face the old lady, to tell her it was over, to save the day. And as he turned, he saw a huge chunk of granite flying at his head.
CuTunk! His vision went black. His body hit the ground head first for the second time. And the frail old lady let out a wide grin.
The scene shifted. The frigid air blew as bone shattering cold as the winter in The Call of the Wild, effectively knocking his round glasses right off his red nose. As the hired taxi sped away down the dangerous dark mountain curves, the man turned around and scanned his surroundings. He shifted the platinum card from hand to hand as a way to calm his nerves. This place felt so familiar. He could just make out from the light of the stars a crystal clear river snaking across the earth’s floor two thousand feet below him, while triangles of enormous white rock jutted from the ground to the sky.  The moon slowly drifted from under the clouds’ heavy white blanket and shone its white, pure light directly on a piece of rock jutting out of the cliff, which was inches from falling hundreds of miles per hour to its death. And so the man continued walking straight toward the cliff.

Works Cited
Ann, Katherine. “Dream Library.” 4 January 2015. Pin.
Fountain with Pennies. 2013. Google. JPEG File.
Mountain View Sunset. N.D. Google. JPEG FILE.
Ogden, Sherelyn. “2.1 Temperature, Relative Humidity, Light, and Air Quality: Basic
Guidelines for preservation.” Northeast Document Conservation Center. NEDCC, N.D. Web. 23 January 2015.
“Psychology of Color.” DIY Network. HGTV, n.d. Web. 22 January 2015.