There it is. It’s always there. And yet it’s not. Or at least it doesn’t appear to be. But whenever he gets close to it, he finds out it is, and always will be. Sometimes it slides back, but not in enough time. There’s never enough time. It must be miles away, but he couldn’t tell. He would still try when he watched it slide back. The shimmer it made in the sun would clue him in. Every ounce of him would move at once and still he was never in time.

It made him sad that he would never know. He wouldn’t give up, but his optimism was fading. Always just out of reach. He gave it a name. It wasn’t a clever name, but it was something to refer to it as. He called it the Promised Land. The funny thing was he wasn’t sure if it was land or not. The constant reflection it gave off made what was on the other side indiscernible.

He dreamed of the Promised Land though, what could be on the other side. There, he dreamed of a vast land of harmony and peace; a place where everything runs like a symphony in perfect tune, or a dance choreographed and performed faultlessly. Sometimes he thought of them put together. The food there he couldn’t dream about, couldn’t fathom the taste. He knew it would be the best he’d ever eaten, and better with every bite. Just the thought of it made him drool.

What else could be there? He wondered more often than not. What other pleasures awaited him just out of his reach? It could be anything. What he knew wasn’t there, was what surrounds him now. His home as he begrudgingly called it. It was plain, ordinary, colorless, dull, and always the same. Nothing ever changed. He would leave and come back without a single thing out of place. Most wouldn’t mind, but he did. He wanted change. Life shouldn’t be a one note tune.

It sickened him. It was so close, right in front of him and he couldn’t pass the barrier keeping him out. What a magical barrier it was. It would create an image of himself blocking his path. How clever it was. What sort of imagination could have made such a device? It must be a powerful mind.

He had strange thoughts that perhaps there was a selection process involved. Some of those he knew made it past when it opened. He never saw them again of course, but he could sense they were happy. When would it be his turn to be selected? How would he know? Staring at the object only made it worse for him. The yearning only got worse, only made him more eager.

It consumed him. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Moving closer to the object, he crept closer and closer. He didn’t want to disturb it though. He feared its power. It could do just about anything to him, he was sure of it. The urgency he had overpowered the fear within him. What did it matter anymore? He felt like he was on his last leg anyway. If something went wrong, at least he knew he tried.

This was the closest he’s ever been to it. This was a great idea. Of course, it was still closed but he held out hope that it would slide back soon. Something told him so. Maybe this was how it happened. That urgency built up within him finally broke loose.

Whatever it was his premonition was coming to pass. It slid back. Very slowly, it opened for him. Without hesitation, he rushed forward. He needed no invitation. The object has been inviting him in for years. He was just always late. This time though, he was on time. He made it past. It was the most invigorating moment he’d ever felt.

His eyes couldn’t quite adjust yet, but he felt an overwhelming sense of self satisfaction that could not be replaced. He made it. Never before has anything felt so wonderful. He was no longer tired and all his energy returned. He felt revitalized. Renewed from all the days of staring at the object he couldn’t see through, the long days of wondering. Now he’s here, now he knows.

Before his eyes could focus on the wonderment before him, he heard a soft wind. A mild breeze passed over him. It was a cool calming wind. He basked in the calming sensation. The wind picked up quickly faster than he ever thought possible. The wind forced itself upon him. It hit him with all its might.

“Damn flies,” an old man said removing his swatter from the glass door.