They look, they search, and they are lost here. This world so cruel, so twisted and dark, dim glints of light like flickering candles at the end of their wicks with little left to burn on. The light is in the mind, the imagination, the light is hope, what more do they have that is real? They turn to the fiction, to the books, to the movies, to the bedtime stories, to Wonderland, to Oz, to Middle Earth, to Sefferria… and for what? Answers? They silently scream at the worlds of their minds for the hope it portrays, for help in the reality of life. But the stories are just that, as good as they may be, as inspirational as they may be, they only offer a story, they only speak of possibilities. The human race is so lost, but so hopeful, they cling to these things and forget to make their own stories, they live vicariously through movie, TV, game, or book characters. The world tries to find answers in Wonderland, but wonderland doesn’t talk.
