The Way Out

He knew the way out. It was clearly marked; there was no other path.

That singular route didn’t mean it was easy. He’d seen it for months but had never felt like he was ready to take it on. Now that he was ready, he was scared. The route was well-lit, and, yet, it seemed fearfully hard.

He kept telling himself, “I can do this, I can do this,” but that didn’t get him moving. So he sat and waited, hoping for a sign that it was time, or a voice notifying him that if he went now, it would be all right.

No signs ever came. No one ever spoke that he heard. Oh, sometimes there were others, but most of their words were faint. Few made sense. They weren’t the encouragement he desired. Eventually, on his own, he summoned his will and embraced the path.

It was time to be born.

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