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As I stare beyond the wood, into the endless white, I wonder so many thoughts. Who are we? The question has plagued our people for millennia. Where are we going? What are we meant to do? I contemplate where I should take myself now. I am but simple creature, nothing like the birds that chatter above destinations planned only when needed, or the two squirrels that play tag up and down the hard woods as if a vehicle would never come to interrupt the fun.

I lean back on the grey hood of my rusted out car. The hunk of metal feels out of place in this ominous world, but I pay no mind. I pay no mind to anything but the tunnel of trees and the thoughts that plague me.

I could move forward, I could move into the unknown beyond and test myself, see if I could survive. It would mean leaving so much behind. Maybe even the old Chevy that I sit upon currently. That wouldn’t be so hard. But what about everything else. What about the people that I care for, who seemingly care for me? And what about all the material things I call my collection? Surely they will give me value in the future.

I could turn around.

I could turn around, climb into the warmth of my idol car and return to where I began. I could move backward. I could focus on what I currently have, and seek nothing else. Comfort seems the lesser of two evils. I wouldn’t be pressured to come out of my own hole that I have dug for myself. I am on the edge now, and all I would have to do is reorient my car and drive the fifteen minutes back the way that I came. All I would have to do is climb that half flight of stairs. All I would have to do is be entirely selfish.

Who shall I be? The one that moves forward, into the unknown, or she who cries for comfort?

I shove away from the car before patting down my jeans that had captured a dusting of the fog. I round the front end, unlatch the driver side door and soon push the engine forward. I am headed only one way. Beyond the wood.

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