I spent a lot of time looking outside through my windows. I often wonder what it must be like out there. Each window shows me a slightly different view. It’s much more interesting than the inside of this house. I love my house. Don’t get me wrong. It is my shelter. I feel safe and secure, even if it has become boring. But the lovely distractions of the opportunities outside keep me looking, staring, and dreaming. I touched the door the other day. It was so tempting to open it and just see what was on the other side. What was it like? Did it smell different? Feel different? But I didn’t turn the knob. Hell, I didn’t even unlock the door. I was afraid. But that was the other day. Since then, I had discovered courage and I guess I was just tired of being bored inside, even it if was safe and secure. So, with a nervous hand I unlocked my front door. I stood there, calling myself names and wondering if I had the balls to open the door or if I was just full of crap. I decided that I was going to prove to myself that I was a real man and that I could do this. So I grabbed the knob and I turned it. The door opened with no real effort at all, which surprised me. I thought it would be much harder to open. But it was easy. Without really thinking, I stepped through the doorway and outside. Even as I was doing so, I could tell it was the wrong thing to do. Before I could stop myself, however, I lost my balance and fell face first to the ground. I heard the door slam behind me as my mouth got its first taste of the real world. I lay there, spitting out dirt and blood and feeling my heart beat so fast I thought I was going to die. I lifted my head so that I could see beyond the grass and my vision was clouded with salty tears. What had I done?