THE WHITE DOOR CHRONICLES PT 2

Through the door was a vast span of grayish grass, like an ocean of tiny pen strokes, reaching to the heavens. A faint path cut toward the pale horizon. A small, solitary tree stood weeping, the only blemish to the untouched grey and white landscape.
Jack leapt backward. “Impossible,” Jack muttered to himself. He leaned to the right of the door, and then to the left. Around the door was the clearing, tall trees standing guard in all directions. Through the door, however, was a land of grey and white that seemed to have no boundary. An impossible door to an impossible world. What other way could there possibly be?
This place was new. Jack could feel it in his gut. This place was his to explore. He stood there for a moment, frozen in curiosity and wonder. He had been gone for about an hour and a half now. His mother would probably want him home soon. Oh, how she did like to worry. But Jack knew he couldn’t walk away from something like this. For this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The three crows watched Jack disappear across the threshold of the white door, their ink black eyes never wavering. The strange creature had gone, taking his red nest of treasures with him. They looked to one another in approval, and then soared away into the trees, back to shadows from which they’d come.
Time seemed still in this world of grey. Jack cautiously took a few more steps down the path, then turned around. Now the door was surrounded by the grey grass and white sky, and through it waited the clearing, like something from a dream.
Jack focused back to the path ahead. It was so quiet here. The only noise to be heard was the crunch of the dirt path under his shoes as he walked deeper into the unknown.
Now this tree was a sad one. It did not tower, nor did it stand guard. Instead it wept by its lonesome, crumpled and dying, holding its crinkled branches close, as if embracing itself to ease the sorrow. The path had led Jack here, to the base of this somber tree. He looked over his shoulder to the door sitting in the distance. It looked so far away.
Jack turned back to the tree, but a dark figure now blocked his sight. Whatever it was, it was tall, a dark grey coat hung from its shoulders, all the way to the ground, and a neat black top hat with a red band rested on its head.
Jack nearly jumped out of his skin! He fell backward into a roll, but quickly clambered back to his feet. He reached for his knight’s sword, and pulled it free from its backpack sheath. He held the blade frontward with both hands, ready to fend off whatever foul beast stood before him.
The silence continued around the three of them. The tree did nothing but loath; the stranger did nothing but stand; and Jack held his sword at the ready. No one moved an inch, as if frozen in time.
Jack finally found his words, but when he was just about to speak, the stranger took his place. “Peculiar thing, isn’t it?”
Jack was taken back for a moment, surprised by the smoothness of the stranger’s voice. He managed a reply. “What is?” he asked nervously.
The stranger turned to face Jack, revealing a white mask with two black eyes. He then motioned to the sad sapling. “This tree, so alone in this world of white. Like an ink spot on an empty canvas”
Jack gripped the wooden sword more tightly now. “What is this place?”
The stranger looked back to the tree, and with a deep velvet voice replied,” What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jack said, unsure of the question.
The stranger pulled his gloved hands into his coat pockets to rest. “Look at this tree, so frail and weak, so alone in this desolate land, doomed to this sad state of sorrow.” The stranger sighed in empathy with the tree and then continued. “Now imagine this tree in good health. Stop her weeping and imagine her with purpose again, thriving with life and without tears.”
Jack was still very much confused by this whole ordeal. One minute you’re walking through the woods, the next you’re standing in a completely different plane of existence talking to a tall masked figure about a sad tree. Maybe this is a dream; Jack pondered the possibility. Things like this only happen in story books, and dreams. And Jack was quite confident that this wasn’t the happenings of some silly book. I must be dreaming.
Jack decided it was high time he awaken from this odd slumber, but the sad tree then stole his gaze. He pictured what the stranger had said, then let the picture saturate into his mind. Surly if this is my dream I can make this tree glad again, decided Jack.
Suddenly the sad tree began to change. Leaves sprouted from its branches; its limbs stretched in all directions, growing in a swirl of fresh leaves. The melancholy ceased, and the tree looked to be at ease. With her purpose restored, the tree’s true nature was revealed. Plump red fruit emerged from amongst the leaves, and found their refuge along the low hanging branches. Jack cracked a wide smile “It’s an apple tree!” he exclaimed.
One of the stranger’s hands left its coat pocket, and rose to greet the apples. He then plucked the fruit from its home and brought it down in his palm. “Very good, I’m impressed”
Jack smirked. “Ah, so this is a dream” He stuck his wooden sword into the soft ground, then moved a little closer to the tall stranger. “Can you toss me an apple?” The stranger tossed the apple, and it bonked Jack on the head, knocking him down “Ouch!” Jack howled. He sat there, rubbing his forehead. “Everything feels so real”.
The stranger leaned over him, towering, with his white mask expressionless. “So close minded,” the Mask sighed. “Can you even tell me what real is?”
Jack was dazed “Everything that is real. That’s what real is I suppose, everything that exists in the universe.”
“Wrong!” another apple hit Jack, this one square in his chest. “Nothing is truly real,” the Mask began. “Nothing can be proven. The only thing we can know to be real is our own perception of what is, and what is not. Change your perception, and you can change the world around you.”
Jack began to laugh. “What’s so funny boy?” the Mask demanded. “Go on, speak up!”
Jack rose to his feet, still giggling. “It’s nothing really. I just think it’s silly, talking to someone in a dream like this.” The Mask became cross. For a second, Jack thought he could see a scowl - even though the Mask had no mouth from which to display such emotion.
“So you’re questioning my existence now, are you? Quite rude, don’t you think?”
Jack managed to become serious again. “Well dreams aren’t real Mister.” he replied. “Dreams are just made up in a sleeping persons head.”
The stranger crossed his arms. “Now I’m disappointed in you, child; you had such potential.” The stranger dipped his hat, then twirled around so his back was again facing Jack. “Alright then, away with you, Go back to wherever you came from.”
Jack laughed again, “You mean my bed? I would but I’m not sure how to wake up from something like this.”
Silence reclaimed the moment. The air between them was empty. It was so quiet, in fact, that Jack could hear his own heart beating. It was then that he took hold of a startling realization. This was no dream; he could feel the realness of this place in his bones.
The stranger kept his back turned, then, with a voice as sharp as a knife, cut the silence. “Go home, Jack,” the stranger commanded sternly.
Ice threaded down Jack’s spine, and the hairs on his arms stood on end. “How do you know my name?”

I will post part 3 some time this week. Click here for part one https://steemit.com/writing/@william-syrus/the-white-door-chronicles. And as always, all feedback is appreciated. Any theories as to what this place is?