The Path

By
Well, I’ve been on this path for quite a long time. I’ve strayed from it before for short segments of time, but I’ve always come back to it. It’s quite beautiful, I must admit. The sidewalk is smoothly paved with tan concrete, allowing for an easy pace as I walk. The trees overhead hang many pink and white flowers in the springtime; their petals usually fall to the ground, just in time to be swept down the path by the cool breeze that incessantly and gently brushes my skin. One home stands on the side; within it lives a seemingly innocent and loving unit. They always watch me as I walk.

This path has been good to me--no, great. This path doesn’t judge me, as the rest of the world does. It simply asks that I look upon it with respect as I walk it. It does not call out my flaws, imperfections or impurities. For a while, I appreciated this. Perhaps too much. I began to think of the path as a blessing, for I believed it would most definitely take me to my ultimate destination--or at least the destination that I so deeply desired to reach.

But after a while, the path began to turn and twist in ways I had never expected. With each step I took, a flower began to whither, mocking me, torturing me. Why? I had given my undying devotion to this path, this is true. There seemed to be a mutual relationship in progress, a relationship that was crutched by the understanding that my goal was at the end of this path, and that this path would happily take me to it. But I became increasingly more aware of the misdirection--with the next step, the path turned again, another flower falling to my feet. The clouds overhead purposefully blocked the sun, causing the home on the side to take on a dark, ominous appearance.

When I finally reached the end of the path, I turned around. Before me, I saw a path that was completely different from the one I had set foot on so long ago. What had happened? The truth is, the path simply was unable to take me to my desired destination. Why, I cannot exactly say. Paths take on many different shapes and appearances over time. This specific path (the one I invested all my time in) had fallen apart. The once-flowery trees were now black and dead. The singular home was now filled with nasty creatures that were created out of developed apathy and helplessness on the path’s behalf.

Now I needed to find a new path, one that I knew would be different--or one I thought would be different. After all, intelligence cannot be permanent on a changing path.

But just as I was about to turn back around, one of the creatures came from the home. She looked similar to a normal human, but she possessed more qualities of a corpse. Her skin was pale gray and cracked with dryness. Her hair was neck-length, shocking white. Her clothes were…completely normal. They were the single thing that linked her to people like me, as I knew them--and they certainly did not match her demeanor. I could tell--from her physical appearance and her countenance--that she was the most tormented being that walked the Earth.

And then, like a two shining stars in a blackened sky, I saw her eyes. They belied her appearance so greatly that I swore they did not belong to her. Yet, there they were, set on her face. I knew if I was closer, I would be able to see the answers in those magnificent eyes. But I wasn’t closer. And my feet would not allow me to move onto the path again.

Did she want me to move closer, to talk to her, perhaps? I cannot say. But, even at my distance, I could see the most minute glint in her pupils. Was it…love? I also cannot say. But she made no attempt at moving closer to me, and I got a radiating feeling from her that she thought herself to be a monster, and that her distance was for my own good. But, truly, was it?





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