Hansel and Gretel at least had an exit strategy. Poor Henry had no need of such a bow in his quiver – he could never find an entry point. Life was a hurtling journey for him. Forever searching, neither finding nor understanding.
Like that recurring dream of the long, dark corridor with closed doors down either side. From beneath each door, light struggles into the corridor. The lost soul scurries down the dim corridor trying each handle with an increasing sense of panic, all to no avail. A white light glares from the end of the corridor concealing its length. The closed doors keep on coming.
The problem is that Henry is wide awake.
Pathways lead to the right, and to the left. The road ahead stretches on, and on. Signs speak in a gibberish that Henry has never learnt to comprehend. Henry hears a loud ticking from inside his head.