Morning comes way too fast. A loudspeaker crackles with a cheerful “Good morning, campers!” The sun hits a row of quartz crystals, making the room sparkle. You crawl out of your bag, stiff and strangely proud. You survived a night under the watch of a saber-tooth tiger without a single nightmare.
Breakfast is a bagel in the cafeteria, which now feels domestic and boring compared to the Hall of Minerals. You glance at the parents at the next table, all of them looking like they fought a pterodactyl and lost. There’s a shared understanding in their tired eyes: “We did this. And it was magnificent.”
You walk out into the normal world, feeling like you’ve been on a secret mission. The cars on the street seem loud and pointless. You’ve spent the night with billions of years of life and death, and now you have to answer emails. It’s the most humbling, hilarious experience. You’ll never look at a fire hydrant the same way again.
Honestly, it’s the best sleep you’ve ever not gotten. You come home, collapse into your own bed, and dream of a T. rex tucking you in. And you smile. Because for one night, you were part of the collection.
