The road seems endless.
The people by the side, some in clown caps and some in capes, wave at you and you wave back nervously. Some of them offer you tang, grape flavoured and crystal clear, but you say nothankyou and begin to jog because you have to be somewhere and you don’t remember where but this is the only road.
It’s a one way road.
When you look back you see a large writhing object, like a thousand people in a rain cloud, coming at you. It’s not menacing but it isn’t pleasant either. The people are saying things to you. Disconnected things you already know. Like how you’re lactose intolerant but can keep yoghurt down. And how you hate getting haircuts.
Your slow jog is now a sprint because the people bombard you with inane details of your life which are distracting your thought process and your mind is fogging up. The people up ahead on the side-lines, are taking pictures of each other . They are singing upbeat songs and whistling Belafonte tunes. As you pass them by, they drop their things and starting calling out to you. They ask you if you can make it and if you’d rather stop and join them for some minced meat sandwiches.
The road comes to an end and opens up into an open space where there is nothing. The space is full of nothing. Nothing.
The people vanish from the sides and the object chasing you dissolves into the air. You look behind and the road is folding itself up like a carpet after the party is over. You stand on the edge. You don’t know why you are here but well, you’ve arrived.
The people by the side, some in clown caps and some in capes, wave at you and you wave back nervously. Some of them offer you tang, grape flavoured and crystal clear, but you say nothankyou and begin to jog because you have to be somewhere and you don’t remember where but this is the only road.
It’s a one way road.
When you look back you see a large writhing object, like a thousand people in a rain cloud, coming at you. It’s not menacing but it isn’t pleasant either. The people are saying things to you. Disconnected things you already know. Like how you’re lactose intolerant but can keep yoghurt down. And how you hate getting haircuts.
Your slow jog is now a sprint because the people bombard you with inane details of your life which are distracting your thought process and your mind is fogging up. The people up ahead on the side-lines, are taking pictures of each other . They are singing upbeat songs and whistling Belafonte tunes. As you pass them by, they drop their things and starting calling out to you. They ask you if you can make it and if you’d rather stop and join them for some minced meat sandwiches.
The road comes to an end and opens up into an open space where there is nothing. The space is full of nothing. Nothing.
The people vanish from the sides and the object chasing you dissolves into the air. You look behind and the road is folding itself up like a carpet after the party is over. You stand on the edge. You don’t know why you are here but well, you’ve arrived.
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