“It wasn’t supposed to be this easy.”
That’s what I kept thinking as I stood at the base of the hill, gravel underfoot, sky humming above. We’d all gathered—dozens of us—drawn by a feeling we couldn’t name. Not faith. Not fear. Something in between.
And then the flood came.
Not as punishment.
As revelation.
From hand-holding rituals to a crawlspace carved through concrete dreams... from vending-machine light to a store that sold plastic hope and whispered confessions... we moved forward. Always forward.
A mother at the wheel. A stranger offering heroin. A cube etched in symbols no one dared decode.
Every step was a question.
Every choice, a test.
And still, the words echoed: “Enter through the narrow gate…”
But what if the gate wasn’t narrow at all?
What if that was the trap?
