This World Wasn’t Built for You

Before you find yourself in a world not meant for you, there’s often a place that shapes who you think you are. A space with walls so high they become all you know, where choices feel defined, and doors stay closed. This is that place, the yard we’re taught to live in until we realize we don’t have to. If this story feels familiar or unsure of its meaning, you might find clarity here: The World Wasn’t Made for People Like You.

The yard was vast yet confined, encircled by tall walls that stretched endlessly upward. These walls stood as a silent, unyielding barrier, making it impossible to glimpse what lay beyond. No one in the yard could see over them; they could only imagine what might exist on the other side. The gate, a massive iron structure embedded in the wall, loomed as a formidable threshold. It was always there, visible yet daunting, a reminder that the outside was a place no one remembered well.

People spoke in whispers of how they’d once entered this yard long ago. They couldn’t quite recall what the world beyond it looked like. For most, those memories had faded like an old, indistinct dream, with only the faintest traces left. Some remembered stories passed down — tales of beauty, adventure, and danger. The stories conflicted, creating a hazy picture of the outside as both a paradise and a peril. But these tales were only fragments, half-told, rarely discussed in detail. Over the years, the outside became less a real place and more of a myth, a mystery cloaked in uncertainty.

The yard itself was predictable, even comfortable, in its own way. It had enough food, enough structure, enough of the basics to make life sustainable, if not exactly fulfilling. Those within followed the same routines day after day, taking on tasks that were set up for everyone to complete without variation, regardless of skill or inclination. Some flourished, others struggled, and most simply managed. Each day was much like the one before, and while few complained, even fewer seemed truly content.

Yet for the protagonist, a restlessness stirred — a quiet, persistent feeling that something about this yard wasn’t right. They’d look up at the towering walls and the gate that no one approached, wondering what it was all hiding. How could something that vast, that final, lead only to… nothing? Could there truly be an entire world outside those walls, as the stories hinted? Or was that all just fantasy, a distraction from the predictable safety of the yard?

One day, while performing a routine task, the protagonist felt an almost overwhelming urge to break from the cycle. A question formed, one they could no longer suppress: Why do we stay here? They wanted to ask others, but each time they hinted at the idea, they were met with vague responses or blank stares. It was as if the walls themselves had subdued curiosity, as if the yard had an invisible force keeping everyone contained, unquestioning.

But something in them was awakening, a spark that defied the comfort of the yard and the stories of its safety. One afternoon, they found themself standing near the gate, studying its heavy iron form. The gate was closed but not locked; it looked as though it could swing open if someone were willing to try. The protagonist reached out tentatively, their hand hovering over the rough, cold surface of the metal. They didn’t push it open — not yet — but the sensation of standing there, so close to the unknown, ignited something powerful within them.

They went back to their tasks, but the yard had changed for them; it felt smaller, somehow, less able to contain their thoughts. The next time they spoke with an older resident, they took a risk and voiced the question that had taken root in their mind.

“Do you ever think about what’s beyond the walls?” they asked.

The elder looked at them, eyes clouded with years of routine, but there was a flicker of something — recognition, perhaps, or memory. “There was a time,” the elder began slowly, “when I might have wondered. But I settled here. The yard is… safe.”

“But don’t you want to know?”

The elder’s gaze drifted toward the walls, their face softening with something that could have been longing or regret. “The stories say many things. Some say what lies beyond is beautiful. Others say it’s filled with hardship. And maybe… maybe it’s both. But we have everything we need here, don’t we?”

The protagonist nodded, but their thoughts buzzed with questions. They realized that, while the yard provided basic needs, it didn’t offer them freedom. And freedom, they were beginning to understand, was worth more than any predictable safety. The outside remained a mystery, but it was a mystery they felt compelled to solve.

One morning, after another night of wrestling with the unknown, the protagonist made a decision. They would go to the gate. Alone, if necessary. As they approached, they noticed that a few others were watching, a mix of curiosity and apprehension in their eyes. Taking a deep breath, the protagonist reached for the gate, hands trembling but determined. They pushed, and with a heavy groan, the gate began to swing open, revealing a narrow pathway beyond.

They stepped through, and for the first time in as long as they could remember, they were outside. The air was different, fresh, filled with a vibrancy that felt almost otherworldly. Around them stretched a vast, open landscape — fields, mountains, rivers, all untouched by the confines of the yard. The colors were brighter, the sounds richer, the possibilities endless. The outside was not only real; it was more alive than they had ever dreamed.

As they stood there, drinking in the view, they looked back at the gate. A few figures stood within, watching, hesitant. The protagonist gestured to them, a silent invitation, a promise that the outside was worth exploring. Slowly, some began to step forward, one by one, crossing the threshold with wide eyes and tentative smiles.

In that moment, the protagonist realized that they had become something new — not just an inhabitant of the yard, but a guide, a leader of sorts. They had dared to leave, to question the walls that had confined them, and in doing so, had opened a door for others to follow. The yard, they knew, would remain, its walls holding back those who still found comfort within. But for the protagonist, the world beyond was now theirs to discover.

Here, there were no preset tasks, no routines dictated by unseen forces. Here, they could explore, create, and build a life on their terms. The world outside was vast and unknown, yes, but it was also alive with possibility — an open canvas awaiting its own design.

The protagonist took a step forward, then another, each one lighter than the last, knowing they had left the yard behind for good. They had tasted freedom, and they would spend the rest of their days discovering what it meant to truly live.