Donald Sloan opened the door furtively, uncertain what lay in wait behind it. He was not sure what this place was, this place that had supplanted reality, but it was unclear whether he wanted to be here or not.
As the wooden panel swung forward, the vision of unsurpassed grandeur that met Donald’s eyes was almost blinding. He stood at the front of the great hall and felt breathless as he attempted to rationalize its titanic proportions. The ceiling disappeared into the sky, the walls seemingly extending without limit. A cloudy golden mist above gave everything a mystical, dream-like quality, appropriate for this place which could very well be a dream.
Arched windows fashioned from impeccably-smooth glass appeared on the walls at regular intervals. Outside them was nothing but the azurean abyss of the sky. The door behind him fell away, leaving him in a chamber which extended forever in both directions.
As Donald gazed about in awe, there came a voice to his left. “Greetings, friend. We never expected you to arrive, but now that you have, we welcome you to our domain.”
Looking over, Donald saw a player he vaguely remembered as Carlos Delfino, although he was dressed in flowing white robes and not in the expected basketball gear. Looking down, Donald saw that he, too, was clad in the same virginal white garb.
The question of why Carlos would, too, be here was pressing, but not as pressing as the question which Donald posed first. “Where the hell am I?”
Carlos laughed airily. “That was my reaction to when I first came here. I had a big game, and suddenly I found myself in a foreign, unknown location, overtaken with wonderment at my new surroundings. Donald, you have entered the Hall of The Thirty-Point Scorers.”
“Let me guess. You have to score thirty points before they let you in,” Donald stated sarcastically.
“Let’s take a walk,” said Carlos serenely, and the two men began to walk. “You are correct in your assumption. Thirty points is the threshold which grants you access.”
“Well, if that’s the case, where is everybody? I only see you and me,” Donald said, looking around and seeing nothing but a clean marble floor disappearing into the horizon. “I’m pretty sure that a lot more dudes than just us scored thirty in an NBA game.”
“They come and go. The Hall of the Thirty-Point Scorers is a peaceful and joyous place, but it is a pleasure to be enjoyed sparingly.”
“So, you can just come and go?” Donald asked, confused. He hadn’t see any exit signs or anything since he had gotten here, just more of that fog and the unsourced golden light.
“Of course, Donald. Do you think the fans would like it if MJ had been whisked away from the so-called ‘real’ world after just his first few games? People come back to visit, but this place is so large, you can walk around for decades and not run into anybody else. Solitude is one of the joys of the Hall.”
Donald’s brain was reeling. Decades? Were they in some kind of time warp? Maybe another dimension? Instead of asking these difficult questions, Donald merely asked, “So how did you find me so fast?”
“I am the appointed guardian for the time being. At the beginning, there was no guardian, and people often reacted to the Hall with anger or frustration. That was never the intent behind its creation. It was always meant to be a place of pure bliss.”
“Who created it, then?”
Carlos smiled secretively and put his finger up to his lips. “Shhh. There will be time for these questions later. Oh, so much time! Just know that you can return to ‘reality’ by closing your eyes and focusing. The same method can be used to come back here. I must leave now to return to my post, but I congratulate you, Donald. We all do.”
Donald yelled “Wait!”, but Carlos had already begun running, and he soon melted into the distance. There were, indeed, many quandaries to be resolved here, but with no one to resolve them, he just closed his eyes and willed himself back into the real world.