I always wondered what, or maybe even who, was in the room. I sat for months and wondered. I always heard voices...Always wondered where they were coming from…I hoped that one day I would see the room, and not just hear the voices. After all, it was dark where I stayed. Nothing I could do would bring light. I had to wait until they were ready for me, but sometimes, it felt as if I would never see the room. The walls were growing smaller and smaller each day.
There were millions like me. All waiting, wondering, hoping for the day we could escape. I could never see, but always seemed to hear the mysteries in the room. I hoped that one day, I would be able to solve them. All children are curious, but none as curious as we were. There was always one voice heard above all others. I shook when it spoke, like it was part of me, or rather, I was part of it. It was so hard to wait, and I was impatient, as I was excited to see the room.
Months passed. More question and excitement became evident in the voices each day. They were preparing. Preparing to bring me into the room. They needed to make the room safe for a child like me. Afterall, I had never been there before. They were always saying that we were the next generation, the future, the world. They always talked about how it would all change after I was in the room.
“How could it be much different?” I wondered.
More days passed, and I became impatient. I would not wait any longer. It was lonely in that dark space. I needed a friend. So I unlocked the door. They were not ready to let me see the room yet. The excitement in their voices turned to fear as they realized that I was their new responsibility. Many new, unfamiliar voices surrounded me, but I heard a familiar one in the crowd. I told myself that I would not cry, I would only smile at the one who brought me into the room. Finally, what I had waited, and hoped for, for months had finally arrived! I was in the room! It was much larger than I had imagined it would be, especially compared to the compact space I had been kept in for those nine months. I knew that in time, I would grow accustomed to the room, and the people in it, but I was still scared. It was full of light and people, and I could not hold back the tears. Everyone believes that we cry because we are scared, but that’s not it at all. After months of waiting, wondering, hoping, tears of joy burst from our eyes. Afterall, why would a baby cry after seeing the world for the first time? I suppose it is because we are the next generation, the future, the world, and we have the power to change everything.