Suffocation in paradise
If you have found this note, then this is evidence—because not everyone comes to the place where I carved these words into the wall. If you have reached this far, it is evident that you will go further as well, though you may experience feelings that will try to hold you back. I know those feelings. I experienced them too. I did not deny them, but I did not allow them to seize me either. That is why I memorized all these places and carved this note here, leaving it for an unknown yet conscious witness—another mind that would read it.
I consider it unnecessary to ask why or how you came here. Instead, I want to speak about the tunnels, because they all lead to different places. I tried all of them, and none ended in death—although the definition of death is somewhat complicated.
Where you stand now, there are three tunnels. The tunnel on the far left is the straightest and widest. It is also the most comfortable. There is no danger of being crushed between the walls, nor the fear that something might be thrown at you from a corner. It is also the shortest; walking through it takes less than a minute at an average pace. At its end, you are greeted by a scene reminiscent of paradise: glowing fruit trees, colorful flowers, soft grass, a warm lake, and sunlight that massages your skin. It is a small settlement, enclosed by walls, yet resembling a miniature utopia. There is a small wooden house there, containing everything you need to sustain yourself alone: a kitchen, a toilet, a bedroom, and many other necessities.
There is a kind of magic in that place. I noticed that the apples on the trees were replaced instantly when picked. I filled several baskets, returned to the house, lay on the bed, and began eating. They were extremely sweet, and somehow I never grew tired of the taste. I finished an entire basket and felt satisfied. I could have lived my entire life there, eating those apples and remaining content. But something was missing. It was still narrow. I felt the longing for something that did not exist there. So I left.
I decided to try the next tunnel—the middle one. Its walls were narrower and rougher, but if you walked straight, you could still pass without discomfort. The walk was longer—perhaps a few minutes.
At the end, there was another small utopia, similar to the previous one, but with a crucial difference: the apples were not infinite, and the area was slightly larger. You could not eat endlessly. You had to wait for hours for apples to reappear, enduring hunger. Because of this, I tried to bring in the apple baskets I had filled at the end of the first tunnel. But I could only do so by transferring them into a smaller basket, because the walls would not allow the larger ones to pass.
There was more freedom of movement there. Several houses existed, and the path led to a hill with a tower on top. But eventually, I grew bored again. What was I supposed to do there? So I left.
I finally entered the tunnel on the far right—the third one. The medium-sized apple basket I had brought did not fit, so I found a smaller basket and transferred the apples again, but even that did not help.
The walls were extremely narrow and rough. I could barely pass by turning my body sideways. I crawled for a long time, avoiding the harsh protrusions on the walls. How long? I do not know. In the darkness, the perception of time dissolves. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour. Maybe hours.
The tunnel was not straight; I entered many corridors and holes, jumped, crawled, and struggled. This was the longest tunnel. But eventually, it ended.
When I emerged, it offered something the previous two did not: an open world extending endlessly. This was the tunnel that led outside. There were many houses, roads, and towers. But hunger was constant. Apples were rare, and they did not regenerate once picked. Still, I could breathe. I was breathing the air of nature, not the air of walls. At that moment, I felt the pain of not being able to carry the apple baskets from the first tunnel with me. But I set that aside and headed toward the mountains, because I wanted to see everything.
When I reached the mountains by narrow paths and steep slopes, the entire world lay beneath me. Everything was visible. I memorized the entire layout of the forest. When I looked toward the town, I could not even see the tunnel—it was too small. I mapped this view in my mind and planned to head toward a massive structure in the distance. It looked like the entrance to an alien civilization—fantastical, not belonging to this world. And therefore, I could belong there, because I belonged nowhere, just like it.
Before doing that, I felt the urge to return to the tunnel one last time and leave a note. Not to be remembered—but to leave a forgotten legacy for those who are forgotten, like me. I navigated the narrow walls again and reached the intersection of the tunnels. I carved all of this into the wall so that anyone who came could see it. It was a choice. Whoever wanted could read it; whoever did not, would not. But simply leaving it there was enough for me.
Just as I finished, I heard footsteps from the depths of another corridor. Someone was coming. I did not want to be seen, because that would interfere with their choices, and that would mean imprisoning their life. In their world, they were the only thing truly alive—and that is how it should be. So I immediately entered the tunnel I had come from, checked whether the writing was legible, and with a familiar adventurer’s exhaustion, emerged from the other end and walked toward the unknown.
Atrona Grizel.