The Illusion of Happiness

I do not know if I have ever felt such peace. The sound of crunching gravel under my thick soled shoes pleases my ears as I am walking down a path with tall oaks on either side. There are blades of sunlight slicing through the small spaces in between the emerald treetops. The songs of various birds echo around me. A welcomed breeze passes and cools my skin under my light tan suit. The smell of damp earth fills my nostrils. The path curves to the left, and the trees open to a bright field of pink and violet wildflowers.

As I amble around the bend, I spot a woman situated in a clearing among the flowers. She is sitting on a blue and white checkered picnic blanket with a wicker basket that has a fresh baguette propped within. She notices me and offers a brilliant smile with a wave of her white gloved hand. Her yellow cotton dress is fanned out, covering most of the blanket. She is sporting a large sunhat with a white bow on the side. As I get closer, I can see that she has an enticing assortment of fresh fruits and cured meats. The sliced watermelon looks so refreshing with the sun beaming down upon us. I take a handkerchief out of my suit pocket and dab my forehead. Without a word, she begins to pour a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade from a crystal pitcher and holds it out to me, looking at me with the most striking green eyes. As I reach for it, I notice a gold, heart shaped locket dangling from her supple neck.

Suddenly I can’t see anything. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. What happened? Where did she go? I reach my arms out to explore the dark void in front of me. My hands connect with a hard surface. I am enclosed in a small space the size of a coffin. Just as I am about to scream, I hear the sound of a key turning a lock and a door opening. I feel an apparatus being pulled from my face. Once my eyes adjust to the light, I see a scruffy dark-haired man with thick rimmed glasses that have a crack in one of the lenses. He slips a key into the pocket of his grimy blue scrub top as he steps back.

“Your time is up.” He says in a monotone voice.

“What do you mean? Take me back. Now!”

“Apologies, sir, but your time is up. Please exit the pod and leave through the double doors on your left.”

I look down at my tattered brown clothes that haven’t been washed in months. Not that the contaminated water would really help get all of the soot out. And during these times, one cannot waste water on trivial things such as washing clothes. The sight brings me back to reality. I desperately search my pockets for more papers to no avail. I slump with despair and slide out of the pod. It was so real. I do not understand how a simulation could excite all of one’s senses in such a vivid manner. As I exit the building, I am greeted by the dense, putrid fog of pollution left by the bombs. I put on my government issued gas mask. I glance to the right and see the line of weary souls wrapped around the building to enter the simulation center. I had never understood why it was so popular. It just seemed as if people were risking everything for a quick glimpse at a world that didn’t exist. Now, after finally experiencing it for myself, I understood. I know that I will be back next week.

After I make the three hour walk back to my 5’x5’ shack that I fashioned from the aluminum skeletons of demolished buildings, I notice that my dirt caked feet are actively bleeding. I look at my tin water pail in the corner and notice that it is empty. Today is Thursday. I am not allowed to refill my pail until Saturday, so I wrap my feet in some old cloth and hope that they will not get infected. I am not sure what I will do for food since I just spent my weekly stipend on the simulation. But what does food matter now that I know that such bliss exists in this cruel world of war and death? All I can do is lie back on my bed made of sandbags and smile. I finally have something to look forward to. I will visit the woman of my dreams again.

The week went by excruciatingly slowly. I spent most of my days scavenging for sustenance. I got extremely lucky on Tuesday, when a plump rat scurried by me and supplied me with dinner for the evening. I found materials to make into sandals so that I wouldn’t further injure my only mode of transportation. When Thursday finally rolled around, I was first in line at the ration distribution center. In fact, I had stayed outside all night since I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. An emaciated woman, with one arm missing at the shoulder joint and patches of grey hair missing, cracked the door open. I rushed in. After the eternity it took for her to make her way back to the counter and flip to an empty page in the logbook, I was sure that I was missing my chance to get a decent place in line. Once I was given my papers and had my book stamped, I raced directly to the simulation center, forgoing any rations. By the time I got there, the line had already begun to snake its way around the building. The sun was high in the sky when the man in the blue scrubs finally invited me in. I handed him all of my ration papers.

“You will have 30 minutes inside,” he told me.

He hooked me up to the machine and turned it on. Just as he was about to close the pod, I reached out and snatched the key from his pocket. I slammed the lid closed and locked it from the inside. I heard him yelling and beating on the door, but as soon as I placed the mask over my face, I was transported back to the woodland path. Wasting no time, I sprinted to the spot where I had found my source of happiness. She was sitting there calmly, in the same position, as though she had never left.

“Hello again. You left in such a hurry last time,” she said with a soft melodic voice as she poured a glass of lemonade for me.

I gratefully took the offering and finished the entire glass in one swig. The cool liquid sent a rush throughout my entire body. It was the perfect balance of sweet and sour. I sat down next to her and we enjoyed all of the delicacies that she had laid out. At one point, I knocked over one of the glasses of lemonade. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as she tilted her head back to let out a cheery laugh. Waves of thick auburn hair tumbled down her back. My eyes drifted down to the locket around her neck. She noticed my gaze and instinctively touched the necklace.

“Would you like to see what is inside?” She whispered playfully.

I nodded eagerly.

She delicately opened the pendant and held it up for me to see. I froze when I saw that the face staring back at me was a miniature version of myself. My eyes were crinkled at the edges from the wide grin that spread across my clean shaven face. I do not remember the last time I saw myself like this. Since the destruction of the world as we once knew it, I had only seen my reflection in the cloudy water of my tin pail. My eyes began to sting. She quickly closed the locket and was up on her feet.

“Dance with me,” she trilled, as she spun into the field without waiting for me to respond.

“But there is no music,” I called out as I followed her.

“Yes, there is. Listen.” She looked directly into my eyes with her enchanting gaze. I heard it then. At first, it was the faint sound of fists drumming, but it transformed into an entire orchestra playing just for us. I took her hand and we began to twirl among a sea of purple and violet.

I looked at her and said, “I could stay here with you forever.”

“And so you shall,” she declared as she brushed my cheek with the back of her hand, and we continued to dance as the orchestra played more and more loudly.