Imagine: The Exit

By Tony Baciu

Too many things are trying to catch your attention. You don't know whether to look at the red, blue, or yellow soda ads, at the fifteen car models spewing CO2 down the street, at the Cybertruck tracking your gaze, or at the lights flashing without rest. The street is a saturated stage where even the people sleeping on the sidewalk seem part of the scenery-- invisible behind screens, notifications, traffic, and noise. Attention diminished.

The only voices distinguishable in the noise are selling something. Nothing you need. Nothing you've ever needed. They want you to believe you do. Confused desire.

You look up: thick, dirty clouds block the sky. If they weren't there, you still wouldn't see the sun-- the skyscrapers would hide it. So you look down. Your phone vibrates. Notifications: rent, electricity, gas, school, car, insurance. You earn minimum wage. Your bank account says: 39 euros. You won't make it to the end of the month. Nor to the end of the week. Not even to the end of the day.

You feel like you can't go on. Like you'll break unless something breaks first. Anxiety. Anguish. You think about leaving. The exhaustion is exhausting. You need to leave. Leave, leave, go, leave. You've been thinking about leaving since the moment you arrived. This is the end. This time, you're really going. You know there's always been a door. At the end of that door, all your loved ones are waiting. The door. Open. Leave. You leave.

The light shifts from dim to radiant. As your eyes adjust, you turn and see the sign above the entrance: "Past-Capitalist Museum: Learn from and about the past."

You turn your back to the museum and remain still. You don't know how long you stand there. Around you, others have come out too. No one speaks. But there are looks of something shed-- a weight lifted. Even the air feels lighter.

Now you walk forward.

There is grass beneath your feet. The morning dew gently soaks your soles, and they seem to welcome it.

No ads. No cars. No noise. No people on sidewalks. No smoke. No sellers of false desire.

Only green. Only birdsong, in a choral murmur.

People sit in groups on the grass, playing, talking. Dogs. Cats. To the left, a sign lists today's assembly topics: animal rights. To the right, a noisy, joyful group of children arrives with today's caregivers. A few men and women trail behind, returning from communal work. They break into a race to the public kitchen, sacks of fruit and vegetables bouncing on their backs. The people on the grass burst into laughter, delighted by the show. This year's harvest has been magnificent-- thanks to everyone's work.