Complacency Springs

There once was this girl Susie. Susie was in a hurried rush to escape from the confines of her life placement within a shoebox village that we will (for the purposes of this story) call Complacency Springs. Now Complacency was a pleasant place to be and an even better place to grow up. It is the type of place where birds continuously tweet tunes of perfected delight as women stroll down the street with Chantilly lace waist hugging dresses. Four out of five people that Susie came into contact with on a daily basis in Complacency either hugged her or gave her a kind gentle word. The number one distinctive factor about this little village was its adherence to down home old-fashioned values. These values were both subliminally and overtly infiltrated throughout the village. From the perspective of an outsider looking in, Complacency seemed to be the “ideal”. The ideal place to escape from the hustle and bustle of mediocrity and repetitive motion. Complacency seemed to personify the idea of perfection that has only been depicted narratively in unrealistic utopian fiction novels. There exists only one snare in the romanticism that exists within the grandeur of this village. That is the sad fact that an impassable wall exists between Complacency and the rest of the outside world. This is no figurative wall that we are describing here. This wall is a physical structure that prevents beings from either entering or exiting Complacency Springs. Now you would think that the real tragedy in this story would be the fact that outsiders will never have the opportunity to experience the perfection that exists beyond those walls. They will never have the chance to be subjected to the true innocence of emerging fauna in the midst of the simple fog that covers the wooded parts of Complacency each morning. But no. No, the real sadness of this story exists with the angst that protrudes in between the ears and beneath the rib cage of the lead character of our story. Yes, Susie had the unique ability to find sadness in the quiet laugh and smile of the strangers she passed on a day-to-day basis. She found restlessness in the perfectly temperatured summer nights within her cottage home on the hillside. She translated the humming of humming birds and the tweeting of blue jays as a continuous taunting of a life that she would never experience.