There is the wall that has been there all my childhood. It stands immense over the landscape, determining
the skyline, impeding the progress of the tufts of clouds. Many have told me of the door, the chance to start
anew, to begin. Only now do I see it, embedded in the wall, a speck in the distance. They have told me of its
strength, its composition of thick steel, a lock dangling from a hinge. But now I must witness it, beat upon it
with my fists, force through the ultimate obstacle to my triumph over life.

I soon began my journey up the desert hill – solid but rocky and perilous – to the base of the wall. The
dehydrated soil crackled under my step, and clouds of dust followed. I crossed over fissures that extended to
unknown depths. Dead branches of long-fallen trees scratched at my shins. I kept my head down to watch
for these obstacles. I wandered, stumbling at times, in the direction of my instincts, the salted air sapping my
strength. The incline steepened, forcing me to crawl. But eventually, it leveled. I was at the top at last. I reached
the base of the wall and collapsed, my journey complete. Placing my palm on the weathered brick for support, I
regarded the barrier that had stood in defiance of the will of any man. Beside my palm was the speck I had seen
from some time ago: the door. But it looked less sturdy than it had been described. Reaching out, I brushed
away flaking paint, revealing the wall behind. I had been fooled.