“Welcome to Umbrella VR 2.!” the splash screen burned into her retina as she opened her eyes from a groggy sleep. Farah closed her eyes again and waited for the system to boot up. And then smiled when the swatch of colors and ribbons spread apart, displaying the world around her, as she always knew it.

Another beautiful day! The landscape of different fantasy realms stretched out as far as the draw-distance could render in her VR goggles, starting at her feet, extending over the various kingdoms, castles, and floating islands, and ending in a light blue, smog-less sky. She was so thankful that she was given these goggles so many years ago, and thankful even still that they were solar powered so she never needed to take them off.

An odor of rotted meat hit her nose. She scrunched her face and quickly inserted the nostril enhancement plug. Ah, that was better. Instead of rancid meat she smelled the sweet aroma of pastries from Mr. Mulligan’s Pie and Magic Wand Shop. She waved at Mr. Mulligan and his goblin ears perked up. He smiled back. A hobgoblin popped out of the sack of flower and waved. So adorable! Across the cobblestone street was a shift in the environment and a series of smiling bipedal robots were carrying crates into a donut factory with magical butterflies fluttering around the entrance. The rainbow smoke that shot out of the factory’s chimneys was a breath of fresh air.

She checked her watch. She needed to be at work in the ivory castle between 12 and 3PM. Only three hours to get there! Only three hours to enjoy the warm weather, the beautiful colors, and wonderfully diverse characters.

As she made her way towards the underground mole tunnels, where villagers were making their way into the circular door embedded in a hillside. But before she could head down a digital apparition appeared. The circular door glitched and changed to a subway entrance with busy pedestrians hurrying down the stairs. Her stomach flipped upside down. She swallowed the nausea. Then the glitch stopped and she smiled and continued down the hole in the ground, walking next to talking rabbits, smiling ogres, and a trio of bearded wizards.

The dirt tunnels opened into a tiled floor with dusty, cob-webbed lanterns that looked ancient and creepy. Farah, despite having no experience with fantasy games, enjoyed the different sights, even though she saw it every day. Under the marching feet of the creature pedestrians sat a pot-bellied halfling who held a sign that read “Have a good day and some bread!” Farah shouted “I will!” and continued on, taking a handful of the halfling’s bread as she went. Only if everyone could be so kind, everyone in the real world at least.

“The real world.” She almost forgot what that meant, except for the few times that the VR glitched out. Eventually she’d need to get a new model, one that would never mess up, so that she would never see the real world again. Why would she want to? The real world was filled with cruelty and horrible images of poverty, smog, and worse yet, judgmental stares. The real world could use a little whimsy and lot less anger and violence. This world, the one she created using her goggles, was the real world.

Farah didn’t like to think about it too long and reminded herself that it was all harmless fun. The people boarding the underground trains would give her judgmental stares but at least she didn’t have to see them. Instead, she saw a cavalcade of forest creatures and fairies loading onto a large minecart that would take them on a wild adventure through subterranean valleys, scary dungeons, and ancient lava pits. How exciting!

She stepped onto the cart and stood next to a gingerbread man who gave her a wink. The man, who looked tasty and sweet, also smelled of ginger and cinnamon. His armpit seemed to smell the best so she stuck her face in close and took a whiff. Another fairytale creature bumped into her shoulder. To her pleasant surprise it was a big, old porcupine.

She smiled at him and he responded in kind, “Good day! Would you like to eat a bag of tricks, you lovely little witch!” The porcupine held out a bag of candy.

Farah licked her lips and reached for the bag but the porcupine man pulled away. “Mother duck! You can’t have all my candy.” said the man.

She looked down. Her mother had always told her not to feel sorry for herself but she couldn’t help it. “Self-pity is death.” her mother said. And: “No one will ever like you if you don’t like yourself.”

Farah’s mouth turned upright as she agreed with her mother. She ran past the porcupine man and grabbed his candy bag, running off the train when it pulled into a stop. The porcupine didn’t really need it. It was only candy. He shouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want to give it away.

Her heart thumped as she made it to the elevator. The porcupine wasn’t far behind but the doors closed right as his quills appeared between the closing doors. She looked inside the bag and realized they were all sweet tarts and quickly tossed it aside. She thought about the cookies her mother used to make and missed the sweet aroma. When no one else mattered and everyone else abandoned her, her mother was the only thing she had left and now she was gone too. The therapist once told her that she had attachment issues, attaching her sense-of-self to her “guardian figure.” But Farah never saw it that way. Why should she blame her mother for something society did to her? For the constant ridicule? For the distain, shame, and humiliation? At least now, with the goggles, she didn’t have to see them. It didn’t matter to her that her faults were exposed, only that those who were watching had little brains and hateful hearts. It wasn’t her fault. It was theirs.

The sweet smell of oranges hit her nose. She turned and saw a furry goblin facing the corner of the gold-plated elevator. Orange juice was leaking down his leg. Strange place to squeeze an orange she thought. She was going to ask for some but instead left the elevator when it opened. Another apparition caused her to blink. And in that instant, she saw a skyscraper and then a castle as the glitch corrected itself.

The Ivory Castle! A flock of tropical birds flew overhead, soaring in the sky and creating colorful ribbons from their blazing tails like chemtrails. Despite the name the building was made of marble and was tall and thin, with three spires tipped with gold trumpeter statues on each. She smiled widely and actually felt like she was part of something bigger, something important. The huge wooden doors were welcoming with their yellow glowing torches and the palm trees on each side. Inside the castle, over the moat that replaced the sidewalk, there was a parade of vibrant and playful characters having a party in the lobby, like they always had when she arrived to work. Drinks and chocolate pastries were being exchanged, furry animals were bent over with laughter, a cyberpunk warrior was flying around the chandelier in a jet pack with a pirate primate swinging after him; it made her forget about her worries, causing her to forget that she was even wearing VR goggles.

She forgot what it felt like to be noticed, to be recognized and examined. She forgot what it was like to be picked apart, piece by piece, for someone to choose which parts for the best and which parts should be discarded. In that moment she didn’t have to worry that someone would try to change her or that someone would try to sabotage her existence simply because of who she was or what she was.

But she didn’t forget everything. She checked her watch, walked over the wooden bridge, and waved gleefully at the hippopotamus doorman. The eight-foot doorman waved back and with a large, open smile pulled off her goggles and slammed them onto the concrete, breaking the device into small pieces and shards of glass.

Farah looked up at the human doorman, her stomach churning when she heard the trumpeting car horns and emergency sirens, and frowned. The doorman with his heavy overcoat and thick moustache frowned back. He cursed at her and demanded she leave the property and reminded her that she didn’t work there anymore and hadn’t for several years. The rectangular glass building stretched into the sky above, dominating the blue with rigid, bland architecture. She closed her eyes and let the breeze stab at her exposed cheeks. This was the real world and it was painful.

Ahead, past the doorman she looked at her reflection and saw a wretched, hunched over woman staring back, a face she didn’t recognize. She felt the tattered, brown shawl in her fingers and muttered the word “monster” to herself. It was okay if she judged herself. She knew that she was better than anyone else. After all we all make her own realities, she decided. “Why do we divide ourselves?” she asked herself. The doorman arched his brow. “Self-pity. Yes.” And she finally admitted, “Self-pity is death.”