Ezra, Part Three: Hate The Sky

I'm afraid that my experience in the museum did not encourage me to be a good student. I consistently got low grades and though I managed to graduate, I did not have what it took to get into a decent college. Instead, I went to community college and continued my record of mediocrity.

I would go to work and go to class and if I didn't have any classes, I would go to a friend's house where we would drink and drink a lot. Looking back, I can see the trait of alcoholism that my father passed down to me, but back then all I really understood was that I wanted to pass the time and this was the best way to do it.

So I drank. I didn't party that much, but when I did, I tended to get even more drunk than normal. It was after one of these parties that I fell asleep in a friend's lawn.

I awoke in the middle of the night to feel the grass on my face. I sat up and wiped my cheek as I silently cursed my friend for not bringing me inside. I stood up and immediately felt a wave of nausea. I closed my eyes, trying to hold back the contents of my stomach, took several deep breaths, and then opened my eyes again.

Something was different. I wasn't in my friend's lawn anymore. For one thing, it was bigger than my friend's lawn. The air felt cool as I looked around. There were green hedges everywhere, no sign of my friend's house. Just me and the grass and one solitary statue.

I looked up at the statue. It was of the old man, the King from the museum. He wasn't sitting anymore, he was standing, his arms outstretched into the sky, as if he was trying to pull down the heavens.

"He hates the sky," a voice said and I turned around, ignoring another wave of nausea, and there was the man from before. He was still wearing his black and gray suit and holding onto his cane.

"Where am I?" I asked. "How did I get here?"

"He hates the sky," the man repeated, "because it is a lie. The sky represents complete and utter freedom, a freedom that he cannot have. You look up into the sky and wish to travel to each and every star, but you can't. The truth is that you are stuck here, trapped on this earth, this tiny ball of mud, and you can never escape."

"Who are you?" I asked, increasingly desperate.

"You never asked your question," the man said. "You must ask and he will answer. He will tell you the truth and nothing but. Go on. Any question at all."

I turned and looked at the statue again. The hands that had been outstretched where now at his side, resigned, tired.

"I know you have plenty of questions," the man said. "Ask and all will be revealed."

"Please," I said. I tried to walk backwards, away from both the man and the statue, but I was still uneasy and hungover and I tripped. I landed on my arm and my stomach flipped and I heaved onto the grass.

"Some other time then," I heard the man say before the world blurred before me.

I woke up to my friend shaking me awake and asking, "Are you okay?"

I did not have an answer.