The Red Brick Road

When I woke up Friday morning, I never thought that this would be where I would end up. I never thought that my life would be thrown into a downward spiral with no way to climb back up. I never dreamed that my existence would be turned into something that could be found in a Tim Burton movie. I also never thought that I would wake up sitting at the the bottom of a black hole and chained to a wall with no way to break free.

While I'd always heard that imagination of a writer can sometimes take over to become a reality, this was ridiculous. Who could have guessed that such a place was real? If there were such world, one that only existed somewhere in between a child's nightmare and the twisted imagination of a sociopath that experienced manic depression, it could only be described as crazy, unimaginable, and downright impossible. Three days ago, I would have agreed. I would have laughed in your face while dialing the number for the nearest psychiatric ward if you'd told me this is where I would end up, where I would die.

We all have classic movies that we love, that we could watch over and over again and never get tired of it. Mine was the Wizard of Oz. The movie held a sense of hope for me; the idea that, one day, I could make something of myself, I could go somewhere and do something that would change my entire way of living.

Looking back, all I have to say about the Wizard of Oz is; fuck Dorothy and fuck the yellow brick road. She had it so easy. She had friends behind her, helping her. Even with that help, she was so whiny, she cried about everything, always complaining about getting home. I bet she didn't think about the fact that many of us, people like me, long to get rid of our homes, to break free of the binding chains. She was selfish.

Nobody ever talks about it; the red brick road, I mean. The road that winds in the opposite direction of Dorothy's precious yellow brick road. It called out to me. It calls out to all of us; the desperate and confused, the damned, and the broken hearted. We swarmed to it like flies to a glob of honey. There isn't a particular reason; the trail was dark and dreary. The plants were dead and the ones that weren't were struggling for life.

If I ever get home...if I live passed tomorrow, if I ever see that movie again, hear those songs and her insistent complaining; I will throw the fucking television out the window.

Now here I am, sitting here, breathing in the musty air and listening to the cries of the other people in the room with me. I couldn't see them, I could only hear them. I don't know any of them but I pity them.

So, beware my friends. Beware of the red brick road...