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.