Extended metaphors

So there it was, the challenge. Laid out starkly before our eyes at the end of our journey. Across mine-fields of distraction and pain and mind-blunders we had travelled. Through every storm of doubt. We had ignored all the lullabies, luring us back to indifferent sleep. Here it was. Mortality's palace. A huge set of double doors faced out towards us, and at their centre the barrel of a white gun. It seemed to have not been tarnished.

We were not the only ones there. Near the main doors to the palace, a high platform had been set up. Priests and rabbis and mullahs shouted down to us that we were to throw ourselves to the gun. One with steely eyes and a commanding voice spoke. "It's the only way in" he said. It's the only way in.

Because that's why we're all here, we want to get inside. Know the secrets. Steal the treasure.

A team of scientists stood cautiously back, and advised those nearby not to listen to the holy men. "There is no evidence that throwing yourselves to the gun will get you into the palace. It would be wonderful if it were as simple as that, perhaps. Notice how they never get off their platform." I asked one of them what their solution was. "We're working on a weapon. We plan to destroy the doors and the gun. Then the secrets and the treasure will be there for the taking." I asked him if they were having much luck so far. "Not yet" he said, with a slow frown.

Suddenly, a monk who had been sitting cross legged with a deep and impassive expression on his face rose up. Everyone turned to him. He took a deep breath in. "The gun... is an illusion." Everybody gasped in shock.

"He's been here as long as anyone can remember I've heard" the scientist remarked. I didn't know whether this meant he was crazy or if it meant we should trust him.

"The doors, too, are an illusion, and so is the palace. Mortality... is a lie. The secrets and treasure lie directly beyond it's false walls. Let us be fooled no longer."

Uproar. Several people fainted. The scientists grabbed their notebooks. The priests frantically scanned their holy texts.

The monk smiled and began to walk slowly forward towards the doors. The whoops of joy, the confused shouting, the scribbling and rustling of pages died down with each consecutive step, until he was metres away, when all fell silent.

He paused, as if for a second wavering in his conviction. Then marched boldly forward and was shot dead on his third step.

The uproar this time was even louder. The holy men screeched with savage joy. "THERE IS NO ESCAPING THE GUN, MY FRIENDS. THROW YOURSELVES IN IT'S PATH AND PUT AN END TO THIS FUTIILE PAIN."

The scientists frowned more deeply than ever.

We, however, felt differently.

We walked around to the side of the palace and snuck in through a nondescript door half by accident, laughing like a band of merry cosmological thieves. There were no secrets inside, but there were large windows at the front of the building, where the crowds were. We looked out on the chaos. Someone shouted that they'd found graffiti messages from some others who'd made it in. And we danced.