my tildelog

a blog about tildes

A 30 Year Nap: Part 2

January 24, 2024 — ~grif

Continued from [Part 1, see tags below]

Upon awakening, Alexander Winton had a renewed determination to reach his goal: to travel 30 years into the future by means of suspended animation in a medically induced coma. Aware that most physicians would hesitate at the idea, he thoughtfully waded into the waiting files of potential anesthesiologists organized by his staff. Perusing each profile, he mentally filtered them for a physician who seemed adventurous, willing to push the envelope, no, willing to burn the envelope with a match and a generous dose of lighter fluid.

Dr. Rajesh Singh was not just any anesthesiologist; his credentials were as impressive as they were unique. Educated at one of India’s premier institutions, he had moved to the United States to pursue his passion for managing complex cases, those that other doctors in his position would refuse: the elderly, infants and children, multiple transplants, and even patients in the midst of organ failure. Over the years, Dr. Singh had carved a niche for himself in experimental anesthesiology, often rising controversially to the forefront of cutting-edge research. His publications were routinely refused by top medical journals and his frequent lectures at medical conferences often concluded in heated arguments over the Hippocratic Oath and whether he was truly doing no harm.

This reputation was perfect, Alexander thought. He arranged to meet Dr. Singh at “Le Mystère,” a high-end San Francisco restaurant known for its privacy and exquisite cuisine, an ideal location for the confidential nature of their discussion. The day of the meeting, Alexander was prompt, as was his habit. He was pleased to see Dr. Singh had arrived early; the confident fellow was gesturing with broad movements, speaking casually with the maître d’.

“Dr. Singh, I presume?” Alexander bubbled.

“Yes, hello Mr. Winton. I was just talking about what a wonderful place this is. Great choice!”

They were seated in a dimly lit corner of the restaurant, surrounded by hushed tones and the soft clinks of fine dining. Like an architect unrolling his blueprints, Alexander laid out his vision with a mix of cautious excitement and trepidation. Dr. Singh, a man in his mid-fifties with a distinguished air, listened intently. His eyes, sharp and discerning, occasionally flickered with curiosity beneath his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. He adjusted his glasses as the waiter presented a bottle of Hermitage La Chapelle, the 1990 vintage, which Alexander had ordered to complement the restaurant’s sophistication and exclusivity.

After several gulps of wine, Dr. Singh pronounced, “Mr. Winton, I must admit, your proposal sounds like something straight out of a H.G. Wells novel. Fascinating idea.” He swirled the wine in his glass. Now turning to his host with a more serious tone, “But also riddled with complexities and uncertainties.”

Alexander leaned forward, his enthusiasm undiminished. “Dr. Singh, I’m aware it sounds outlandish, but with your expertise in experimental procedures, I believe we can navigate these complexities.”

Dr. Singh raised an eyebrow, setting down his wine glass. “Navigate, you say? Mr. Winton, we’re not talking about a simple detour.

This is uncharted territory. The human body is not designed for prolonged artificial hibernation. The risks involved — from muscle atrophy to cognitive decline — are immense. But it truly is a novel thought.”

After a brief silence, Dr. Singh mused, “Have you ever had anesthesia? It’s a brilliant nap,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. There was that word again. Continuing the conversation he said, “Thirty years into the future, you say?”

“Yes, isn’t the field of medicine about pushing boundaries — exploring the unknown?” Alexander pressed, his gaze intense. Dr. Singh leaned back, folding his hands. “Quite the opposite. Medicine generally embraces the tried and true. We call it “evidence-based practice.” This is the stance that my procedures often conflict with. There is no evidence to base practice on without experiments. This is undoubtedly why you contacted me rather than Dr. Spenser down the road,” he chuckled. “But — there’s a fine line between exploration and recklessness, Mr. Winton. Yes, we push boundaries, to treat disease and ameliorate the human condition. But this proposal is more like anesthetic tourism.”

The meal began with an amuse-bouche, a delicate spoon of tuna tartare with a a shaving of white truffle and a single grain of sea salt.

“Serveur,” Alexander beckoned one of the several waiters tending to them, “How about a bottle of Château Latour, I think you know the one I like.”

“Yes sir, the 2000,” the waiter boasted.

“Right before the dot-com crash,” Alexander smiled. He had sold a company that very year, at the peak of the market.

The waiter scurried away, returning with the vintage promptly, handing the cork to Alexander for inspection.

“Think about it, Dr. Singh,” Alexander urged, twirling the cork in his hand. “It’s not just about overcoming the medical challenges. This is improving my human condition. With all of my wealth and experiences, the present has lost its pizazz. I have witnessed bleeding-edge technology firsthand, but the pace of development isn’t fast enough for me. I’m ready for more.” Dr. Singh paused, studying the wine in his glass, contemplating. “Mr. Winton, while the romanticism of your idea is captivating, the practicalities are far from romantic. Traveling into the future, as you put it, is not like taking a long flight to an exotic destination. The world you’d wake up to would be drastically different. You’d be disconnected from everything and everyone you know.”

Foie Gras Terrine was then delivered to the table, served with a fig compote and a slice of toasted brioche. Alexander ignored the dish, undeterred. “But isn’t that the point, Dr. Singh? To leap beyond the constraints of our time? To be a pioneer in a new world? That’s what my whole life has been about. But now, making my present tenable is what I am trying to achieve.”

The doctor sighed, a hint of a smile playing on his lips at Alexander’s unbridled enthusiasm. “Hmmm… your human condition. I am not psychiatrist, so improving a person’s present is really not in my experience. I put people to sleep, then flirt with their vital signs while they slumber.”

“Temporary escape is my tool, but we are now talking about long-term escapism. Our lives, our learning, they’re rooted in the progression of time, in the experiences we accumulate day by day.” As Dr. Singh spoke, hearing his own words reminded him of his colleagues who practiced the excessive caution he despised. “By skipping thirty years, you’re not just traveling to the future; you’re forfeiting a part of your life, a part of what makes you, you.”

Alexander straightened, “I see it as a necessary sacrifice.”

The chef arrived as main dish was served, announcing, “Coq au Vin — chicken braised with wine, lardons, and garlic, accompanied by sautéed greens with a beurre blanc sauce.” Alexander appeared to be annoyed by the interruption.

“To see thirty years in the future really would be something, wouldn’t it?” Dr. Singh speculated, the powerful Bordeaux beginning to manifest its character. “Holograms, robots, and — sex robots and holograms!” Once again hearing himself, Dr. Singh leaned forward, holding his wine glass with index finger extended somewhat crookedly toward Alexander, “But you know, human evolution happens as live out our days. If you skip to the last page of the book, you lose the essence of the narrative.” “If it were me,” Dr. Singh began, a reflective note in his voice, “I could not imagine leaving my wife and children. My daughter just started high school, and when she actually wants to spend time with me, every one of those moments is precious.”

Alexander listened, then spoke, “I totally get it, Dr. Singh. I never took the path of marriage and family. My life’s always been about my work, my vision. I suppose I’ve always feared that personal commitments would distract me from my goals. But I have different precious moments I want to enjoy. The present has really become quite boring. My legacy has already been created, my companies have now taken on lives of their own. Now it’s time to jettison into something new.”

Dr. Singh nodded understandingly. “Life is about balance, Mr. Winton. Having a family, forming those bonds — they don’t detract from our ambitions. If anything, they add a layer of meaning and purpose.”

Alexander shifted in his seat, mulling over Dr. Singh’s words, looking dreamily into his glass of wine. “I suppose I’ve always viewed time differently. For me, the future has always held more allure than the present. It’s why this project, this journey, means so much to me. I want to be a part of that future, even if it means sacrificing the present.”

Dr. Singh looked thoughtful. “You know, a legacy is more than just the achievements we leave behind. It’s also about the connections we make, the lives we touch. I’m not encouraging marriage, no, no, no — if anything marriage is a mistake for most men. But, whether you realize it or not, your human connections in this world are just as impactful as your technological wonders, maybe even moreso.”

As the waiter placed dessert in front of him, a dark chocolate Crème Brûlée, Alexander tapped at its surface gently, pondering his limited human connections. His staff, his driver, maids, and sometimes the gardeners. Each relationship had the pleasant superficiality of the bland life he was now trying to escape.

“Speaking of children, I should be going home soon,” Dr. Singh said. “My son just had his school science fair this evening. We were up all night working on it and I really must hear about how it went.”

Just as Dr. Singh stood up to leave, a sudden commotion at the entrance of the restaurant caught everyone’s attention. The maître d’ was hurriedly escorting a family to a table near where Alexander and Dr. Singh were seated. To Dr. Singh’s surprise and delight, it was his own family — his wife Anita and their two children, Aarav and Priya.

“Rajesh!” Anita called out, a bright smile on her face. “We thought we’d surprise you! Aarav just won first place for his science fair project, so we decided to come celebrate with you!”

Dr. Singh, taken aback and overjoyed, quickly introduced his family to Alexander. “This is Mr. Alexander Winton, a… colleague of mine. And this is my family, the joy of my life. You see, son, hard work does have its rewards.”

Alexander, who had been immersed in the depths of their philosophical discussion, was suddenly pulled into a warm, lively family scene. He shook hands with Anita, who had a kind, welcoming demeanor. Alexander then high-fived Aarav, the budding young scientist, while Priya, a bit shy, smiled and nodded from behind her mother.

“Rajesh, you have been drinking. I can hear it in your voice.” Anita observed.

“We have had some very fine wines, Anita.” Dr. Singh, now in a more jovial mood, turned to Alexander. “Well, Mr. Winton, I believe the universe has its own way of punctuating our discussions. I think I’ll stay and enjoy dessert with my family. Will you join us?

Alexander hesitated for a moment, Mrs. Singh appeared less-than-pleased that the two men had polished off two bottles of wine, regardless of the vintage. The thought of joining an awkward family dinner was not in his plans, but the warmth from Dr. Singh’s family did have some appeal. “Thank you, Dr. Singh, but I should be on my way,” Alexander replied apologetically.

Walking outside to meet his driver, Alexander’s mind replayed images of the smiles from Dr. Singh’s family seeing one another in celebration — it was a poignant reminder of what he had missed in his own life. His own accomplishments were reflected in his bank account, but few people were there to cheer for him. As his driver pulled up, he reflected on how most of the people in his life were paid to be in attendance.

The drive home was quiet, with city lights blurring past him as stared out the window, lost in thought. His usually clear, focused mind was now clouded with introspection. The joy and simplicity of Dr. Singh’s family life stood in stark contrast to his own solitary existence. Was he missing some fundamental human experience, one that perhaps presented a new challenge in itself? If so, it felt generally unappealing.

Upon arriving home, Alexander’s spacious house felt more empty than usual. The echoing halls and the immaculate, untouched spaces spoke of a life lived in the fast lane, with little time or inclination for the warmth of a family home. He wandered from one room to the next, each filled with the hi-fi audio equipment and expensive art, yet they lacked the personal, lived-in feel of Dr. Singh’s world.

Settling into his Eames lounge chair, Alexander gazed out of the large window, overlooking the city he had helped shape. The stars above seemed to twinkle with a hint of mischief, as if mocking his sudden existential dilemma. For the first time in a long while, he felt a disconnect between his ambitions and his emotional state. He felt overcome by a sense of needing to cry, a foreign feeling; and he refused to relent.

Uncomfortable with these emotions, he sprang up to prepare for bed, redirecting his thoughts toward his achievements and his singular goal of seeing the future. This obsession that had felt obvious was now fraught with complexities of a different kind, not just scientific or ethical, but now too deeply personal. Completing his nighttime routine, he nestled once again into his luxurious cocoon and took a break from his racing thoughts, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

tags: A-30-Year-Nap, short-story

The Magic of the Forest

January 23, 2024 — ~grif

Once, long ago, in deep forests by sparkling rivers, lived wise owl Alaric. Known for her wisdom and forest mysteries' understanding, Alaric had a unique gift: she spoke with towering old trees, the forest’s guardians.

These trees were ancient observers, silently watching over the forest for centuries. They had the power to protect it and its inhabitants, yet were bound by an ancient rule: they couldn’t directly intervene unless the forest’s balance was at risk.

Over time, unrest grew among forest animals. Some stole food, others spread deceitful tales, leading to harm and fear among the weaker creatures. The once-peaceful coexistence crumbled, leaving the trees to watch in sorrow.

Troubled, Alaric sought the trees' counsel. She described the discord, seeking a peaceful resolution without breaking the sacred rule.

Eldrin, the eldest tree, offered a solution. “We can’t interfere, but we’ll empower you, Alaric. You’ve bridged us and the animals. We’ll give you power to protect them from themselves.”

Accepting the responsibility, Alaric reflected on the need for internal change, not force. Granted nature’s powers by the trees, she devised a plan.

Alaric began creating natural signs to mediate disputes. She used her powers subtly, causing breezes, rustling leaves, or strange stone arrangements to make animals reconsider their actions. In extreme cases, she’d bring rain or lightning to prevent harm, always blending these signs with nature.

Seeking the forest’s counsel, Alaric followed the trees' wisdom, focusing on compassion and interconnectivity.

Gradually, the animals changed. They saw the forest as a community, not just a habitat. Stronger animals protected the weaker out of concern, not fear. Resources were shared, and animals cooperated on common problems.

Alaric, from her perch, knew her work wasn’t finished. Disagreements and challenges persisted, but she had given the animals peaceful resolution tools.

Returning to the trees, Alaric shared the forest’s improvements. Eldrin, the old oak, announced, “Harmony is returning. As a reward, you’ll have our immortality, but we must start removing your powers. The more intense their use, the faster they’ll fade.”

Eldrin cautioned, “Our powers should never again be given to forest creatures. It disrupts nature’s balance. You’ve restored harmony, but we can’t restore lost powers or grant them to others.”

Alaric, accepting the challenge of mortality with diminished powers, understood interventions must align with individual nature, not forceful redirection. She pledged subtlety in using her remaining powers.

To this day, Alaric watches over the forest. Her powers are reduced, but she still offers gentle reminders—a breeze, mist, or a lone dandelion—echoing the forest’s interconnectedness.

tags: short-story, fable

A 30-Year Nap - Part 1

January 23, 2024 — ~grif

In the heart of Silicon Valley, where technological marvels and extravagant dreams share a complex, long-term relationship, there existed 46-year-old Alexander Winton, an eccentric and visionary tech magnate. His life, a brocade of luxurious escapades and groundbreaking achievements, had always been driven by a restlessness for something slightly beyond the present. His drive to bring tomorrow’s technology to the present was fundamental to his success, bringing people new things they did not yet know they needed.

His fascination with the future had its roots in childhood, where science fiction novels and movies painted vivid, tangible images of a world transformed by science. His lust for the future only grew as he did. He began his first company at age 19 as a starry-eyed entrepreneur with fantastic visions about the gadgets of tomorrow. As the years passed, Alexander’s obsession with the future began to take a peculiar turn. Despite several successful ventures and multiple high profit exits, his disquietude in the present only worsened. Rather than settling-in to middle-aged complacency, each technological advancement he witnessed further inflamed his cravings to see beyond the horizon. No available luxuries or new tech assets could scratch the itch, which was becoming a full-blown rash.

The idea that would consume him arrived during a late night of fitful sleep. It was a wild thought that would seem absurd to most, but to Alexander, it was a solution to achieve time travel. To literally travel into the future. He had heard of people being placed in medically induced comas for various reasons, their bodies preserved while time marched on without them.

“What if,” he pondered, “I could use a state of suspended animation to travel to the future?”

The notion was fantastical, yet it enticed him. If he could find an anesthesiologist willing to undertake such an unprecedented endeavor, someone who could ensure his survival through a prolonged hibernation, he could wake up 30 years in the future. It would feel as though he walked through a portal in time. It’s possible that medical advances during the period could optimize his health and longevity, without him even realizing it. He would then awaken as an improved 76-year-old man, ready to consume humanity’s advances, a future where human development had finally outpaced his own dreams and fantasies.

He would provide this physician with a healthy salary, ensuring that he would be the doctor’s sole patient during the time, with some contingency plans of course. Alexander started rough calculations for the cost of hiring a personal physician over the course of 30 years, plus some “juice” to make it worthwhile. He thought to himself, “I can definitely afford it, even if inflation chews up most of my cash.”

This bizarre quest was more than a mere whim; it became a need. A need to escape from the boredom of his present time, which increasingly felt like incarceration.

Conscious of the need for discretion in this project, he devised a strategy to find an anesthesiologist for his ambitious plan. Knowing that directly approaching professionals with such an unusual request would lead to unwanted scrutiny, and immediate rejection from most, he decided he to task his staff of personal assistants with the initial phase of the project.

First, Alexander began listing his personal contacts in the medical field. He had friends and acquaintances who were doctors, ran hospitals, or were otherwise connected to the medical community. Instead of outright stating his true intent, he would frame his inquiries as a need for an expert in “long-term patient care under sedation” or “novel and unconventional treatments in hospice,” somewhat implying that he had a family member who was terminal. This would allow him to avoid any uncomfortable questions about an assumed dying family member.

Thinking about doctors who might be willing to engage in such a plan, he also decided to locate physicians who were under probation or had lost their licenses. Surely there must be a quality doc somewhere whose willingness to be “flexible” landed them on the wrong side of the medical board. He discovered that most of these disciplinary actions were publicly available, facilitating his search. On a nearby scrap of paper, Alexander furiously scribbled a few criteria for the type of physician he was looking for. He then tasked a few trusted employees.

His staff compiled series of profiles on their internal server, with the physicians’ photos, research interests, and disciplinary actions. The comprehensive list allowed him to easily peruse their findings. His assistants had performed excellent work, as usual.

The first anesthesiologist’s profile was that of Dr. Emily Hargrove, a renowned expert in pain management based in New York City. She had been recommended by one of Alexander’s friends, who not only knew several medical professionals, she also knew his “type.” But that’s another story for another day.

Looking into her profile, he saw that Dr. Hargrove was known for some adventurous treatments in pain management, including the use of diacetylmorphine (or heroin, which he had to look up). Seeing this, he thought she might be a good first contact. Besides, she was beautiful, with curly locks of blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders in photographs that were obviously taken by a professional.

Cracking his knuckles in one motion, Alexander began to write her a somewhat cryptic message, clicking away at his mechanical keyboard. He pushed away any lingering second thoughts, sending off the e-mail like an electronic message-in-a-bottle.

Receiving the message on her laptop, Dr. Hargrove instantly recognized the name, Alexander Winton, as a Silicon Valley billionaire. The message appeared genuine, coming from his company domain, so she responded immediately with an offer to meet by video chat. She provided a choice of five dates, each with at least three time slots: morning, afternoon, and evening, trying to accommodate what she imagined was a very busy schedule.

Alexander, surprised but nervous, opened her response. “I guess I’m really going to do this,” he muttered to himself, unwilling to admit he was open to seeing her on a date as much as having her for a doctor. He decided on the first time slot in the evening hours, hoping the dusk timing would prove auspicious. Typing quickly, as though his fingers were stumbling over one another, he wrote that while he would be happy to meet on a video call, he could also fly her out on a private plane, to make things easier. As he sent off the message, it seemed as though the echoes of the clickety-clack from the keyboard hung in the air.

Dr. Hargrove responded immediately once again, apologizing that she could only meet by video due a busy schedule of pain procedures, with a long list of patients, some of whom had been waiting months for her expert touch.

“k, video call is fine,” Alexander replied quickly with a terse message, feigning nonchalance to mask his disappointment.

When the date for this appointment finally arrived, Alexander sat in his home office waiting, his stomach a blend of anticipation and heartburn from too much coffee. He stared at the computer screen as the clock ticked closer to the appointed time, nervously adjusting the position of his webcam to find the most flattering angle.

Then, the screen blinked to life and Dr. Emily Hargrove’s face appeared. Her real-life presence, even via video, was striking. Her blonde curls framed her face, highlighted by the setting sun in the window beside her, a scene that could have been painted by Vermeer.

“Mr. Winton, it’s a pleasure to meet you, albeit virtually,” Dr. Hargrove began, her tone warm, yet professional.

“The pleasure is mine, Dr. Hargrove. Thank you for accommodating this meeting,” Alexander replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“I must admit, your message was intriguing,” Dr. Hargrove said, looking upward reviewing the message on her screen. “You mentioned a ‘groundbreaking medical project’? I’m curious to hear more about it.”

He started on his story, “Since I was a child, I always dreamed of traveling to the future. The prospects for advanced technologies have aways consumed my imagination. Of course, this has allowed me to create many of the products-”

“That I use every day!” Dr. Hargrove interrupted with a girlish smile.

“Exactly,” he went on, slightly embarrassed, “now imagine what the future might look like, the advancements…” He paused. Upon hearing himself, he became unsure how to proceed.

She listened intently, not wanting to interrupt again.

Alexander cleared his throat, realizing this moment might define his destiny. “So, yes, well, as you said, I have quite an unconventional idea. I’m looking to explore the possibility of… uh, induced long-term hibernation.

Dr. Hargrove’s eyebrows elevated in surprise. “To travel to the future,” she deduced, her tone becoming subdued. “And exactly how far into the future do you wish to ‘travel’?”

“I think 30 years would be good. I would pay you handsomely; you would never need to wait on those patients in pain again.”

Dr. Hargrove let out a nervous laugh, offended by his choice of words, as if she was a waitress “waiting on” patients.

“Well, it certainly is an unconventional idea,” she responded, leaving a heavy silence between the two faces on the screen. She tried to lighten the digital atmosphere, “And quite a long nap!”

When Alexander gave no response, Dr. Hargrove’s smile faded slightly to a more serious expression. “Mr. Winton, your idea is certainly bold, and generous. However, it does raise a host of medical, ethical, and legal questions. Undergoing anesthesia for such a prolonged period isn’t something to be taken lightly.”

Alexander nodded, realizing that his approach might have seemed too cavalier. “I understand the gravity of what I’m proposing. That’s why I need an expert like you to help assess its feasibility. Money really is no object.”

Dr. Hargrove leaned back in her chair, her expression pained and thoughtful. “Mr. Winton, I won’t deny that your project intrigues me. The concept, while ethically and medically complex, does push the boundaries of what we understand about the long-terms effects of anesthesia, not to mention human consciousness. But before I can even consider the feasibility, I need more details, more research, more… everything.”

She seemed a little exasperated, but Alexander, feeling a glimmer of hope, quickly responded confidently, “I’m prepared to provide whatever you need. Research teams, facilities, funding. You name it.”

Dr. Hargrove found it difficult not be swayed by lifelong income for relatively little work.

“There’s also the matter of the long-term effects on your body,” Dr. Hargrove continued. “We’re talking about muscle atrophy, bone density loss, and some really insane pharmacokinetics… not to mention the psychological impact of essentially skipping three decades of your life!”

Alexander’s face grew somber. “I’ve considered the risks. But the opportunity to see the future, to witness the progress of humanity… It’s a chance I’m willing to take. With everything I’ve accomplished, the present leaves little excitement for me.”

Dr. Hargrove paused with her gaze fixed on him. “I’ll need time to think about this, Mr. Winton. This isn’t a decision I can make lightly. I want to do some preliminary research, consult with a few colleagues. Maybe then, I can give you a more informed answer.”

“But this is highly confidential, of course,” Alexander noted as he shifted in his chair, a mix of anxiety and anticipation bubbling inside him. “But yes, take all the time you need. I’ll be here, waiting.”

The call was shorter than he had hoped, ending as the screen transitioned to its backgound, a space photograph of a haphazard swirling galaxies, a reflection of Alexander’s present state of mind. He slid back in his chair, lost in thought. Perhaps he had found a willing expert. She sure was gorgeous, but less so when she smiled. How would he interact with her? Try to keep her on serious topics all the time? “Perhaps there is something wrong with me,” he thought. “Oh well.”

As night fell, a slight fog covered the city lights, causing a glow like distant nebulae. Alexander’s blank stare drifted to the window, his mind racing with possibilities, excitement, and concerns. Dr. Hargrove just might be the answer to a future he had only dreamed of, but at what cost to his body? He had not before considered the physical effects of muscle wasting, but spoke to himself out loud, “Certainly she can shock my muscles with some kind of electrodes and prevent at least some of the degradation.”

He decided to retire for the evening, turning off the light on his nightstand as he climbed into his neatly made, plush bed (one that in its own right might have be an aspirational goal for some).

Looking toward the ceiling, his gaze softened only to be interrupted by the light from his phone’s screen. It was a notification, a reminder of another meeting, this time with a legal team to discuss the ramifications of his plan. Alexander sighed, reminded of his dissatisfaction and boredom with the present. He was about to embark on an adventure, that if successful, would transport him 30 years into the future! But the biggest challenge might just be finding a physician to join him in this caper.

As he faded into unconsciousness, the room was filled with beams of moonlight, like narrow roads beckoning a traveler to embark on a new journey to the unknown.

tags: 30-Year-Nap, short-story