Dear Writing Diary Entry #15 – From the Archives

The Wall: A Short Story I Wrote in High School

August 21, 2024

In this entry, I share a short story I wrote in high school that I was surprised to rediscover asks the same overarching question as the book I plan to soon publish: Would you rather live a life of safety or one of both potential heartbreak and adventure?

Dear Writing Diary,

While visiting my childhood home this summer, I stumbled across an old short story I wrote back in high school. I couldn’t help but smile in amusement at the words from my younger self. I was surprised though to discover the story actually contained the same theme as the book I plan on publishing very soon. Specifically, it deals with themes of living in constant safety and comfort versus potentially sacrificing these very elements for the chance to explore the unknown and all the dangers that could come with it. The question at the heart of both the book I plan to publish as well as this story I wrote over a decade ago seems to be one and the same: What do you consider to be a more fulfilling life: one that promises safety and security, or one that poses adventure as well as potential danger and heartbreak?

So with that short introduction, here’s the short story itself, titled “The Wall”:

They say that only death lies outside the wall.

Inside here we are safe, cared for. Inside we survive.

The wall is a huge dark gray monstrosity that surrounds the compound on all four
sides, towering over thirty feet high. It is hideous, and its surface so smooth that I cannot ignore the clear accusing gaze of my own reflection every time I draw near it. In here, our own lives are simple. Neat. Each part of our day is perfectly organized. There is no sickness. No conflict. No danger.

Inside I am safe. Inside I survive.

I have lived in the compound for as long as I can remember. Yet there are times
when I catch a glimpse of a flickering image in my mind of something…other. Of a place outside these walls. A glimmer of sunlight on the blades of grass. The feeling of soil beneath my bare feet.

But just as quickly as the scene emerges, it disappears back into the churning
depths of my mind. A memory. Another life—or most likely only a dream.

The sudden harsh blare of the alarm cuts through the silence of the compound, the
scream of it echoing off the black walls and the transparent glass ceiling. I am
instantly drawn back to a different time, to the moment when it all began and the single incident that launched this spiral of thoughts and regret that has led me to the place where I am now.

In my mind, I see a boy with gray eyes and pale hair with a face that's features
have been made sharp with a combination of knowledge and experience. I am pulled
back to the last time I ever saw him standing in the garden of the compound. I remember breathing in the all-too clean smell of recycled air. I remember noticing the bright color of the roses and how the redness seemed almost forced somehow as if the hue itself was unnatural.

Come with me, he said. There is a world outside this place.

I know there is. Don't do this. Please, I begged, taking a step forward. You have no idea what's out there.

It can't possibly be worse than it is in here, the boy replied in a voice filled with
more hatred and loathing than I had ever thought could exist within a single breath.To
avoid the intensity of his eyes, I turned my gaze to the roses. Besides their color, there
was something else unnatural about them I noticed for the first time that night. The stems were utterly smooth and soft-looking. Safe to touch, and though I could not say why, the observation struck me as extremely odd.

You will die out there, I spoke without looking at him.

I will if I remain a day longer surrounded by these walls, he responded.

I heard him take a step closer on the stone pathway.

Come with me, he repeated again, and a change in his tone caused me to finally
look at him. For a moment we were silent. The chance to finally see beyond the
restrictions of the compound, to actually step foot into the foreign world outside. For a
second, the possibilities spread themselves before my eyes. For a second, I could see the both of us discovering a whole other world away from the enclosure of this forsaken prison. For a second, I could see my freedom.

Then that second passed.

The sudden shrieking of the alarm sliced mercilessly through the connection
between us, and I instantly felt as if I stood alone on a desolate beach before an endless wave of fear that threatened to overwhelm me. He must have seen it in my eyes, for the boy standing across from me was already stepping back toward his escape, his eyes filled with a heavy disappointment that shamed me to my core.

I hope that someday you'll be brave enough to make your life your own again, he said. I
hope one day I'll see you outside of these walls. And with that the one and only friend I
had in the world disappeared, leaving me behind.

Sometime after I had managed to escape the guards and return to my room, I
found beneath my pillow a single key, an exact replica of the one he had stolen to escape past the wall. A final gift to me.

The years that followed were filled with a loneliness so complete that it began to
drain away all feeling in my heart. I did what I was told. I ate when they told me to eat. I slept when they told me to sleep. I survived. Outwardly, I appeared perfectly content with this charade that had become my life, yet deep down inside my conscience began to burn a curiosity, then a want for something more. The want then transformed into a need. I found myself often gazing not at the wall, but at the sky far past the glass ceiling above me, imagining the world beyond, and imagining him in it. I would stay up late at night, turning the key over and over with my fingers, pondering possibilities. What could I do when faced with the risk of stepping into the world outside the compound next to the unwavering certainty of a stable life enclosed within these four walls? How could I possibly consider leaving the only place I knew and was safe, yet how could I possibly endure remaining?

Only after years did I finally make my choice.

So, now, that is why I again find myself standing in the garden the same way I has
so many years ago. The deafening scream of the siren echoes off the walls and glass, but somehow the noise fades to my ears as I walk along the small stone path just as I have dreamed of doing for so long.

However, as soon as I reach the smooth black door, I hesitate, and my entire body
feels as if it is paralyzed. Again, I can sense the same wave of fear I felt that night so long ago rising up to envelope me. What if there is nothing out there? What if there truly is only death?

The shrieking of the alarm continues to echo, and I turn to see the dark faceless
figures of the guards coming for me. As I stare at them, I am suddenly no longer
afraid because freedom is the only choice that stands before me, and this time I refuse to let it slip from grasp.

For the last time, I turn away and push the key into the lock. For a moment, I am
tempted to look back again at the ruins of the only life I can remember, but I do not.
Instead, I open the door, and step out of the darkness and into the world beyond.

THE END

Thanks to whoever’s reading this diary entry! I hope you’ve enjoyed this glimpse into my Archives of older works.

Here's to seeing what other stories tomorrow (or perhaps the past) holds.
-K

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