Sometimes I ask myself the question, “why?” Why do I keep searching? Why do I keep looking? Why do I keep trying? I always have the same answer, “I’m not sure.” Maybe it’s human curiosity, maybe it’s the longing to escape, or perhaps it’s the loneliness.

I don’t know how it happened, the “great” May Lilac, stuck eternally on this labyrinth. The voices say there’s an exit, but I feel like I’ve heard it too many times to be true. I’m beginning to lose hope again. It’s times like these I remember my life before this, my family, my friends, myself, my name. I can’t remember everything, everything seems so far now.

I remember one thing thing for certain my name, May Lilac. I was named after my mother’s favorite book “The Weeping Lilac’s in May”. She said that it was that book, but I know better. I was always a lilac. Associated with bad omens, bad luck, a cursed child. Some have other lilac’s qualities white; purity, innocence, or purple; youth, first love, emotional purity. I however am not these beautiful qualities, rather the old maiden tales of bad omens and misfortune in lilac’s.

I suppose some of us are just unlucky. Maybe I’m here because of that. Maybe my life is a lie, a trick of the mind, a way to cope. Can I even trust these so called “memories” of the past anymore? I don’t know what to believe anymore. I hope these memories are true or are those beautiful yellow fiery orbs my mother had for eyes just another lie?— My thoughts interrupted by the sense of something watching. Something is lurking here something, sinister, but what?

I pick up my things, I can’t trust my senses anymore to even know if my things are real. I start to run, the ground under me slipping as the mud fills my heart, my very soul. This labyrinth plays with your mind, your very life. I can’t even trust myself anymore. I am not a reliable narrator for this story. To those reading I apologize, for anything may be a lie.

The rain falls, creating puddles underneath my feet. The mud is becoming more murky, the puddles flooding the already wet ground. I run and run until I reach a dead end— I’m right back where I started, the middle of this damn maze. Is there really any exit? I can only hope, but I keep coming back to the start. I thought about trying to break through the walls to reach the end, but something stops me.

If I wish to escape, why does my own brain stop me? What is the real reason I’m here? How did I end up here? I need to get out. I NEED TO GET OUT. It hurts so much. Please! somebody help me, somebody save me.

I only know one way to get out, run. Run until you’re legs give out, run until you pass out, run until you find the exit. Pick up your mind, your soul, your heart, and throw everything aside. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters unless I get out. I keep repeating these words over and over, like a broken record, a broken heart.

Then my legs give out, luckily right before I run into a wall. I don’t remember anything else, except the fact I woke up and by then it was cloudy. I don’t remember how long I’ve been asleep, how long have I been in this maze, how many weeks, how many years?

If anyone is reading this, you’ve found my journal. You’re now stuck here too. I’m gone by now, that thing found me. That thing isn’t human nor is it animal, it’s demonic. I hope you can find the exit if there is one. I’ve hidden my bag under the cherry tree in the middle of this labyrinth. It should have some supplies, but it’s scarce. Use it wisely and I leave this place to you.