Falling in

Falling



"Cara, what's the point of this?" I ask my best friend as she drags me along crowded Navy Pier."Kennedy, this TV museum is what everyone is talking about!" She informs me. I roll my eyes as we stop in front of the museum. It is six levels, and as black as night.There are bright blue and bright white stone lights shining on it. It stands out against the crisp, cool,dark, Chicago night. "C'mon Kenn!" My best friend yells for me, pulling me through the golden doors.



When you first walk in, there is a glorious lobby with golden floors, majestic red tapestries, and a golden fountain. It had little angels on top. Many workers greet us with smiles as we deposit our tickets. Cara is entranced by the golden TV museum, but something seems off. It doesn't fool me. I stroke one of the tapestries. It feels like soft, cozy, fur. We keep moving, into a long hall filled with mirrored glass panels and windows. There are green walls, and stands with tokens in front of them. I step up to a panel with a ring in front of it, and tap the panel. The glass ripples like water, and my finger feels frost bitten. I massage it as we enter an elevator, also made of solid gold, and press the ruby-encrusted level two button. Once we step off, there is a short, mauve hall with several windows. Cara is staring with a dead stare at a window with a broom in front of it. I clap my hands in front of her, as she gets startled and pushes me. I fall into the window, but the only thing is, it isn't a window. It's a glorious portal.



When I get inside, I look and see I'm riding a broomstick, wearing green gear. My mahogany-colored hair is tied back. It takes me a few minutes to figure out where I am. I'm at Hogwarts, playing Quiddich. I start screaming. "CARA! CARA!" I fly the other way. The crowd yells. I need to catch the Snitch. I start chasing it, followed by a boy with a scar and shaggy hair that needed to be cut. I catch the Snitch in my hand, and body slam Harry. I then see an ominous hand, and touch it. I am sitting back in the museum, shaken up, holding a little gold ball with wings.



Cara is more focused now, after I get back. She was watching the whole entire time, laughing her head off. I probably will never hear the end of it, now that I hit Harry Potter. I never really did care for him. We walk through the third floor, which is covered in art and has a burnt orange coloring. Next is the fourth floor. It has navy blue walls, and dark hardwood floors. I eye a large portal that has a glass bowl with lit coal inside of it. I needed to go inside. I know what I have to do. Cara tries to stop me, but I choose not to listen to her. I throw myself, headfirst, into the portal, only hoping my judgement was correct.



"Cara. Pull me out when I say to!" I yell above the howling wind. I see a thumbs up. I look back on dystopian Chicago. Navy Pier is obstructed. I wonder if the museum lasts. I climb up on the ledge, and peer into the hole. It is seven stories down.





A nervous shiver escapes, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up. I know what is at the bottom. I bend my knees, and lead forward. The air engulfs me in its warm embrace, and I am weightless. I fly free, and hit the net with a thud. I start laughing. When my legs allow it, I stand up. I peer around the underground compound. I shrug, and yell out. "Cara! I'm ready!" She sticks her hand in, and I grab it. The last thing I see is our heroin barrel into the net.



Cara surprisingly high-fives me. We walk through the rest of the museum, seeing its glorious art and elaborate tiling. When we finally reach the end, there is a staircase leading up to the glass roof. We stand on top as we get harnessed in. The only way to exit the TV museum is to hipline off of it. I volunteer to go first, and I get harnessed in. Cara enjoys seeing me get pushed of a roof. Once we both are on the ground and stable, it is just after one A.M. As we part our separate ways, I look back at the museum. It is purple with lime green accents. I turn back and walk home on a Friday night, in Chicago, with a gold ball in my pocket that wields a very important message. I open at the close.