The City of A Million Roads

Once there was a Student. He lived in a can, not an actual can. He lived in a house, but he felt like it was a can. The city he lived in also felt like a can. Like somehow it held him separate from the rest of the world. (It seemed as if he was being preserved from whatever lied on the outside)

Once there was a Student. He was loud, but also shy; adventurous but could enjoy a good movie at home, well read but hated reading; had no rizz but still had a girlfriend somehow. But of the notable things about him, the most, perhaps, is that he was bored. There was nothing to do in his town, no arcades to titillate his need for points and level ups, no escape rooms to escape his bedroom, no coffee shop to caffeinate his lethargy. The mountains were too far away for a day’s climb, the beach too distant to hear it’s salty call, the forest too still and quiet to be disturbed, the desert too ugly to be pursued. Maybe it wasn’t just boredom, there was a twinge of purpose missing as well. And all the places he could go to find purpose seemed too far away to be prospects. 

How does one gain purpose when it seems like all the opportunity lies farther than where feet can go? When all the treasure has been dug up by someone else? When uncertainty is the only certainty? What then? Haunting the back of his head, Student could hear his father, “Just go.” So getting up, he put on his kicks and headed out of his can. Headed out on the same roads he grew up on; but today, he would walk farther. It’s early morning, he has all day to be nowhere.

He passed the park with its pond—there were two ducks today, but he brought no bread. He yelled at them to grab on to his arms and carry him away, but they abandoned him instead. He passed then the local burger place. Then the school. Then nothing, just sky, and road, and roadkill—terribly dead.

“It looks like you have no where to be today either,” said student to the pancaked opossum. Presumptuously, the Pacer’s postmortem pressing, prodding, and pricking upon the placard pest presented penultimate pleasure, passed (preeminently) only by peaking past his present positionlessness. 

But suddenly, by his prompting, the beast’s glassy eyes went clear and the opossum breathed in, inflating his squished torso and popping back to life. Frazzled by breath, Student jumped and watched as vermin moved upon the earth. Looking back and forth before crossing the remainder of the road Vermen asked, “Shall we be going? Lest you too get hit and die and I again? Follow me.”

Uncertain of how to reply Student left in tow, step after step into virgin road. 

After a bit of walking in silence the beast spoke again, “My name is Vermen”

“Mine is Student.”

“You poked me in the street earlier.”

“Yeah…you were quite dead.”

“Oh, was I! I must have missed that.”

“What?! How could you not know? Do you not remember getting run over? Getting welded into the ground by velocity and death?”

“No. I think most dead things don’t feel death. It’s really only the living who feel what it means to die. I’m certain you understand, did you feel anything when you died?”

“What are you talking about? I’m not dead.”

“Oh! I truly am sorry for your loss! Far worse than being dead is being a corpse while alive. You look dead in your eyes, you smell of it…and I know a thing of dying. Why are you walking today?”

“I had nothing else to do. All I could think to do was go.”

“Ah. Indeed. Much worse than I, are you.”

Silence trailed between the two. “Where are we going?”

“Well I’ve got nowhere in particular to be—is there somewhere on your mind?” Student shook his head no. “Then I’ll take you down my favorite road!”

Over the miles the two talked. Vermen circled back to his earlier question, “why are you walking today?”

“Adventure perhaps? I’m always down for a good journey. I was also just bored. Maybe if I just started doing something I’d find…

“Purpose?”

“Yeah. Purpose. That’s why I’m walking. Adventure. Boredom. Purpose.”

“Sounds like you’re a bit undone.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Hello!” Came a distant voice. The road they had been walking on ended at a highway intersection. Where it T’d there was a old woman sitting on a stool. “Out for a stroll today Vermen?” she asked. 

“Oh! Yes; It’s a beauty today!” He shouted forward.

“Who is that” wispered student.

“I don’t know. Well…I know her, I just don’t know her name. I see her nearly every day. There are very few names I find important. In fact, I try to forget mine most days.”

“Is she always here?” 

“No, but most of the time we see each other here. This is her favorite road too.”

“What’s so special about this road?”

“Nothing much. I like it because it ends. Once I get to the end I can choose to go back home, I can stand for a little while, there’s no real expectation to go any further. Many people don’t like endings, you know? They’d prefer things to go on as they are. Some of them just don’t like making a decision to do something different. Most ends are frightening, but I like to think they’re exciting. Not knowing is all the fun. That’s why I like this road, I can choose to stay or go as I please.”

By the end of this answer the duo became a trio. They talked a lot about the day, a little about death, and nearly nothing about each other’s names. After some time Student asked about the intersection where they stood. “Where do these lead?”

“Oh this? It goes to the same place—either direction. That is a path to the Land of a Million Roads, but that’s its nice name. It’s a land of a million hates, a million deaths, a million sorrows, a million pains. But though it be a land of a million roads, not one can lead you out. So maybe it’s the land of but one stop. If you go, you can never return.”

“Why would men go to such an awful place?” Student reeled.

“Some receive post cards, some checks, some obituaries. Some feel a magnetism in their chest, a tinge and echo of adventure. Some see it but the only destination to cure their boredom, their body, or their brokenness. Some go in pairs, in groups, alone. One thing is certain—it is easy—and in many ways profitable—to just go.”

“How so?”

“The city has something for everybody. But many go because of purpose and someone told them that they could find it there.”

“Purpose you say? It doesn’t sound so bad anymore, who would want to undo their purpose? Sure, you can’t leave, but why would you want to if it truly does fill all things up?”

“I didn’t say it met all needs, just many.”

“Well, many seems better than the nothing I have now.”

“Sometimes nothing is better than much. Having nothing to undo is often better than tying up loose ends.”

“No,” said Student. “Trying something is always better than not trying.” With that he turned to his left and began walking.

With that step, though he had nothing to go back for, everything he had lived for was now lost. (Is the girlfriend a problem?)

About thirty silver steps down the path his stomach dropped. Student turned to head back home, but when he about faced and tensed his leg to step, his feet wouldn’t go. His legs were no longer his. Looking up to the intersection, the woman and Vermen walked back down the road and out of sight.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It had been close to a year since Student had entered the City of a Million Roads. He had renamed it though: City of a Million Regrets. City of a Trillion Reasons to Not Enter. But, perhaps most chilling, the City of One Mistake. And he lived there now. In a can; not an actual can. He lived in a house, but he felt like it was a can. The city he lived in also felt like a can. Like somehow it held him separate from the rest of the world. (But this time, it didn’t preserve him. It rotted him away. He could now smell the death Vermen spoke of.) 

A year in Student was still loud, but also shy; adventurous but could enjoy a good movie at home, well read but hated reading; had no rizz but still had a girlfriend somehow. But of the notable things about him, the most, perhaps, is that he was bored. There was everything to do in this town, arcades to titillate his need for points and level ups, escape rooms to escape his bedroom, coffee shops to caffeinate his lethargy. However, the mountains, beaches, forests, and deserts were all too far to be enjoyed. Though many longings could be satiated, there was a twinge of purpose missing. And all the places he could go to find purpose seemed too close to be prospects. 

How does one gain purpose when there’s no where else you can go? When all the treasure has been dug up by someone else? When certainty begets uncertainty? What then? Haunting the back of his head, Student could hear his father, “Just go.” So getting up, he put on his kicks and settled to headed out of his can. Headed out on the same labyrinth of roads he spent the past year on; but today, he would walk farther. It’s early morning, he has all day to be anywhere but here.

He passed the park with its pond—there were twenty ducks today, but he brought no bread. Desperate people yelled at them from the shore to grab on to their arms and carry them away but the birds just looked at them in that blank, duckish way. Student remembered a few months ago when one man became so desperate to leave the city he had captured an army of ducks to fly him out. Strapping them onto his body, the ducks flew him straight into the pond and drowned him. The Icarus drowned instead of melted…kind of poetic if you asked Student. Oh the limitations of man, whether in sky or sea, escape was impossible.

Walking past the pond, Student passed the local burger place. Then the school. Then everything else, the sky, the road, and the roadkill—by roadkill he meant all the people helplessly trapped atop the million roads—all terribly dead.

He continued his walk to the local market—people bartering for fruits, couples sitting and sipping espresso under umbrellas, street performers dancing and singing. They all shared one thing in common, they had no senses. They had ears, but they didn’t really hear; eyes, but they didn’t really see. The only people with ‘eyes’ were those who were crying on the street corners, for they sensed their blindness.

Nearing the heart of the city, people always started to get a bit more tense; at the heart of the city there burrowed a hole, and that made everyone uncomfortable. In fact, that’s where student was headed today—to the hole where the heart would be, were it to have had one. 

The rumor is that “The Tunnel” (as it was called) is the only way out of the city, but no one really knew…the ones who felt they knew always went down into its depths, never to be seen again, and that’s all anyone really knew who knew someone who really knew. (Unnecessarily complex?) But today, Student would know. 

He had been to the tunnel before, many times. Because there’s no way out of the city, there’s no cemeteries. When someone dies, friends and relatives march the body into the center of the city, and like a hollow tombstone there sits suspended an arch, with a rope attached to its belly. The body would be harnessed in then hoisted above the center of the void, an obituary would follow, then all would grow silent. At the peak of the quietness the harness would be released and the deceased would be consumed into the darkness below. Every time this happened the echos of screaming and horror rose to the surface, chased by a singular billow of pink smoke (dust).

This was the only difference between a funeral of death and a funeral of choice, anyone who took the steps into the tunnel did so in silence, but there was never any screaming or smoke. No steaming and scalding cheers from the depths or applause from smoke to confirm/and affirm your life’s decisions. 

Pursed upon the lips of the void there conversed two people—an old woman without a left leg and a young man without a right arm. Student approached and the duo became a trio. They talked a lot about the day, a little about death, and nearly nothing about each other’s names. After some time Student asked about the gap where they stood, though he knew they didn’t know anything. “Where does this lead?”

“I just came from there” replied the teenager, to Student’s surprise. 

“What?! No, no way.”

“I did! Down the path there’s a gate; the sign above it reads, “Beware: All Who Pass This Threshold Cannot Return.”

“You didn’t go through, obviously.” Student observed.

“Not all of me,” the teen said waving his stump toward Student.

The woman said, “Both of us have stuck a limb through the gate. As soon as we did, that part disappeared. We both come here every day and walk down to the gate together, hoping that it will either be the day we finally go through or regain that which was taken. Today was not the day,” she explained with a hollowness in her voice. 

“So the gate’s open?”

“Yeah, there’s a lock on it, but it’s broken. Some time ago a man came through and broke it.”

“Well…my plan was to go down the path today. I’m glad to know there’s a gate that leads…well…somewhere. Would you go down with me? Just to the gate?”

The two looked at each other then nodded. With that, the three walked down the spiraling path, into The Tunnel.

 With each step dimming the journey, student looked up at the aperture above; it was like an eye with a slit for a pupil was looking down on him, and he had no where to hide.

“Here” said Woman breaking the silence. Student pressed past the two and stood before the gate. In the structure’s green paint are scarred all types of last words, curse words, names and dates, hearts and skulls. One graffitied prose reads, “In this mouth of death rests a gate that leads beyond.”

Student opened his mouth to speak. “Do either of you know anyone who has gone—” when suddenly two hands pressed into his back pushing him in and through the gate. Falling through the threshold onto the soil beyond he landed among a severed arm and leg. Looking back up to the gate he saw the paleness of the two’s faces. Student jumped up and started yelling, but they couldn’t hear him. He pressed himself up to the gate, but it was like glass that he couldn’t push through. Though he stand at the gate and scream, the maimed duo turned and vanished back up into the sky’s eye. Student stood there until the eye went dim and night shrouded the outside world. In utter darkness he stood, alone, miserable, unsure. 

Slowly he began inching into the direction of where he believed the path to be. Stretching out with hand to find the wall he discovered nothing, felt nothing…until, out of the darkness came a voice. “Run” it whispered. The sound felt like someone gripping his entire torso and squeezing. In fear and obedience Student began to sprint into the nothingness. He ran for what felt like ages, never running into anything but also never sure of where he had gone. 

And then, in a way that can only be likened to waking up from a dream, Student opened his eyes, even though he thought they had been opened and there he lay, out of breath, consumed by light and wheat stalks. Adjusting to the light and clouds, the temperature pressed upon him and the wind doubled it’s call with a musical breeze that made the crops dance. Student stood and all he could see was an ocean of gold. With the wind to his back he made his way to nowhere.

Amidst the field's gentle sway, Student pressed, as if the earth itself tugged at his weary feet. The grass whispered beneath each step, a soft chorus of golden embrace. Through the yellow waves he wandered until his gaze and pace were drawn to a ribbon of stones, a solitary pathway cutting through the landscape. The road beckoned with a quiet promise, each stride yielding a subdued rhythm to accompany its testament.

“Hello!” Came a distant voice. Student looked up to see the road’s end. Where it T’d there was a old man sitting on a stool with a bag in his hand. “Out for a stroll today?” he asked. 

“Oh! Yes; It’s a beauty today!” He shouted forward, the words familiar to his tongue.

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t really know. All I know to do is just go.”

“Then go we shall.” 

The man stood and the two walked. Reaching into his bag he began throwing seeds onto the ground. “Where you come from?”

“City of a Million Roads”

“Oh, that’s the old country.”

“Have you been before?”

“Of course…” replied the man, “…we all have.”

The two walked and conversed; talking a lot about the way, a little about death, and nearly nothing about each other’s names. After some time Student and the man arrived at another intersection. Student asked about the intersection where they stood. “Where do these lead?” 

“I’m not certain. But I am most confident that if you go this way and I go the other, we’re bound to meet up again someday soon…here,” he handed the bag of seed over to student; the two shook hands and took to different paths. 

The rocky path led to no where in particular, but after a few miles Student came across an intersection. At it was a stool and weary, he took a seat. The wind blew, the crops danced, the student sat with seed over his shoulder, the respite broken moments later by the sound of footsteps crunching. Coming up the road was a teenager who was missing an arm.

“Hello,” student yelled. “Out for a stroll today?” 

“Oh! Yes; It’s a beauty today!” He shouted forward, the words familiar to Student’s ear.

“Where you headed?”

“I don’t really know. All I know to do is just go.”

“Then go we shall.”