Page Three

Many of my fantasies focus on leaving Shangri-la. Would I leave like Naomi had, slipping away one cool evening without a trace, vanishing into the speckled forest surrounding our world? Or, would it be more like Wesley; a stalwart, brave and feckless individual, he who had announced his departure a full year before he actually left. I recall Wesley with a mixture of awe, admiration and concern, but secretly I thought he had painted himself into a box with few options left him but the open lid of the outside world. For the full year following his announcement he was constantly slapped on the back, given words of encouragement from every side, and was bought drinks on an almost daily basis. He was generally admired by most of Shangri-la’s populace. A few of the ladies even went further than admiration. In the end, he had a choice; leave immortality forever, or live in immortality forever infamously. He’s probably dead now. Most likely, so is Naomi. Perhaps that is why I have been so melancholy lately, moping around paradise as if it were not the heaven on earth that it is. I have, on occasion, noticed the odd looks directed at me, as well as the sometimes whispering with knowing nods in my direction. Could it be that my destiny lies elsewhere, outside of Shangri-la? I guess I’ll never know.

Page Two

I understand that in the ‘outside’ world people can live to be over 100 years old. I’ve been told that most of them die around 70-75 though. That would suck. I’m over 350 years old, in outside terms. Here in Shangri-la I’m only 25, of course.
I wonder if Naomi is still alive? I wonder if she thinks about me? I don’t see myself leaving here to find out, it’s too bad she can’t return. Once someone leaves Shangri-la, they never return. Some say that is because they can’t find the passageway. I don’t know how true that is, guess I’ll never find out.
I work hard at convincing myself Naomi will return some day. I frequently imagine the day when through the magical door she’ll appear, as lovely as my memories of her, her face radiating joy and beauty, her arms stretched wide in an invitational embrace. I miss her, and still I keep dreaming.

Page One

I wondered what it would be like to leave. Sometimes that’s all I ever thought about, obsessing over it like a dog with a ham bone, gnawing away at the last remnants of meat on a tired old haunch. I did not really want to leave, after all who would not wish to stay young forever? I did fantasize though, about the outside world. What would it be like to grow old, decrepit, sick and filled with wrinkles? I guess I would never know, especially since I really did not see myself ever leaving Shangri-la.

I never even fantasized about it until I met Naomi. Even her name radiated loveliness. Naomi, fair as a lass can be. Naomi, nymph of Shangri-la sea. Naomi, as lovely as a dew dropped blossom in a bed of newborn flowers. From first sight, I was smitten.

Shangri-la is such a small place. Everyone knows everyone else. All news in Shangri-la is happy news. Once a child reaches “standing” they no longer age. Everyone in Shangri-la achieves maturity at 25 years of age, the year of “standing”. All citizens maintain that age unless they die, or they leave Shangri-la. Relatively few citizens ever die. Very few individuals have ever left. The last one that I can recall was Naomi, and that was nearly 50 years ago. I still dream of her, and leaving. I don’t know what keeps me here, probably fear.