He had fallen in love with the idea before anyone had ever written about it. As much as industrialization and advancements made life easier, they also made the world uglier. People spent less and less time interacting with others, less time with nature, the earth, and the mother of all things. And he thought that was wrong.
He had gotten a stomachache in 1986.
He wanted to see this place. A place where nobody lived.
He had read Roadside Picnic. He was excited when fiction could possibly become reality.
It was something he longed to try, but ethics prevented such a thought-experiment from happening.
So when it did happen, despite the slight nausea associated with it, he did something he rarely ever did.
He ran deep into the woods behind his home and sang his heart out.
