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.