He walked through the door and then a young boy maybe 3 or 4, always explored. He always wanted to see what was on the other side. He thought it was going to be a nice field with huts, fresh flowers and birds fluttering along, sky high. Animals hurrying along the soil. But one time on the wooden old mouldy slats of the door knocked and the door turned open. Smoke was flowing through the dirty air and crunched leaves danced along the hard soil. War and pollution had risen. He closed the rickety, rackety door shut his eyes and fell.