Road to Nowhere
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I find a fork on the road, one path leading away into the darkening twilight of the evening and the other down through an avenue lined with dead pine trees. The trees are bowed by wind damage, most of their upper branches snapped off and laying on the ground or across each other like crooked spears.
As I pass between them something catches my eye—a silver thread spiraling around two trees right next to the head of the tree line. It’s more than visible from here, but it takes me several seconds just to pinpoint exactly what it is because it looks like part of someone else’s body twisting up the trunk.
It took me a while before I even noticed the rest of the line which started about twenty paces ahead along the road—and grew much longer as I continued to stare at it, now stretching off beyond sight over my left shoulder toward a place where the highway disappears into the darkness somewhere far behind me.
At first glance, everything looks normal enough except for those silver threads that appear every now and then above a pair of twisted roots lying sideways on either side of the road. But there is no root underneath any of the branches forming those lines; they’re not connected to anything and only seem to be bent out of shape by some natural force.
If not for this silver thread, I doubt I would’ve paid any attention to these trees’ odd appearance. When I look closer though, I can see how ragged each tree’s crown has grown into a jumbled mass of needles like an enormous quilt draped over its canopy.
And there’s no bark showing at all anywhere in the vicinity of where the silver thread passes through the topmost tree limbs. Something happened here quite recently. The last time this area was clear-cut.
The silver cord breaks off completely below the second largest tree and then reappears about a hundred yards further down the road. Its source appears to be the first large dead pine whose massive boughs are splayed across several others.
Somehow it ended up being attached to both trees in such a manner so that it could maintain its upward thrust while also looking like nothing else that grows naturally in this forest. Even with all these similarities, the silver ribbon isn’t identical to the silver spiral I found back at Ryl’s house; there is only one thread here whereas in his case there were many.
Perhaps this pattern was made intentionally, but for who?
My curiosity suddenly outweighs any sense of caution, and when I reach the end of the highway’s approach I take off running toward the nearest stand of dead trees.
Maybe someone had the idea of setting fire to the whole region and wanted to avoid having to hide by escaping farther into the woods, but maybe this is the work of another stranger wandering through our land with no plan and little hope. Either way, the possibility of meeting up with him—or her—makes me want to hurry.
I start making better progress once I get under the open sky again but the deeper I go into the darkness, the less familiar it feels. Just before reaching the end of the trees, a voice whispers in my ear. “Slow down!” It sounds so close, my entire body jerks from the shock.
This must be the strange creature whose face and hand I’d glimpsed when passing through the gateway. Had he followed me all the way to this spot or was he simply waiting for me at the edge of the highway? It doesn’t matter because if we meet up, whether, inside this world or another place entirely, the result is still going to be the same.
“Who—who are you?” I ask while backing away until a clump of weeds grabs hold of my ankle and forces me to take three long stumbling steps backward. A few breaths later he approaches and crouches low as he holds out both hands in front of us.
At least two different eyes seem to watch me from within his unblinking gaze. One is white, almost translucent, and fixed firmly upon me like he’s observing a bug trapped on a window pane, a small black dot moving erratically back and forth beneath.
The other eye is smaller and surrounded by a halo of gray and blue veins, glinting silver beneath each thin, vertical sliver of the iris. Each eye has its own shape of course: rounder for the outer irises and closer together for the pupil, but they’re all the exact same color and share the same characteristic shade of dull shimmer.
Their size and placement combined with the texture of the skin covering their sockets give me the impression of seeing through thick layers of paint which might represent an extra layer of disguise or illusion used to conceal the true identity of whatever lies on the other side of those eyes.
There was a sharpness and brightness about the left one that seemed to project outward while the right eye remained more subdued, projecting inward rather than outward. I couldn’t tell which was correct—whether one lens, in particular, is closer to the surface than the others or if both lenses have essentially the same thickness of glass. Does this make sense?
How exactly does one look into the eyes of another person, especially one whose features seem designed to provide perfect camouflage? What amazes me most about my current predicament is the thought that this must be what life really looks and feels like through the eyes of a monster!
The things I’ve seen so far have been very real, but these strange creatures do indeed inhabit a realm outside of ordinary existence.
He stands now, swaying slightly as he reaches to adjust the collar on his shirt. He stares directly in my direction without attempting to hide. His stance appears relaxed even though he’s the tallest thing standing between us except for the dead trees in every direction, but he also doesn’t move from where he’s put himself.
Still perched on top of a pair of boulders jutting out from the ground and the narrow stump of one of them, he moves with a purposeful and deliberate stride while keeping an equal distance from me.
Though it makes little difference as soon enough he comes within ten feet of me and stops, regarding me like a puzzle to be solved. He holds this position for what seems like forever and just when I’m ready to pass out from frustration, he slowly turns to begin walking the same path I took coming here, striding past me but not looking me in the face.
As he continues past me I keep expecting to hear his footsteps echoing behind me, but I can see neither his face nor even the tops of his head in either direction. I wonder how much time passes before we finally turn around and walk away from one another—it must have taken hours, given the gradual darkness of evening.
As we proceed, however, the daylight never loses its grip on the sky and we’re always accompanied by an ever-present strip of cloud stretching across the horizon.
So far the fog remains elusive. At times the breeze picks up, giving a rustling sound to the leaves above our heads along with the soft tap-tap of many tiny wings carrying insects high into the air. After leaving the forest behind us, the sound of our strides diminishes quickly and gradually becomes quieter, but only slightly at first.
By the time we come to the dirt road I crossed earlier in the day, I could barely notice anything. For some reason, it worries me and I stop walking completely, pausing to glance over my shoulder. All I can see are trees stretching into infinity, nothing else.
An uncomfortable feeling fills me. I feel very alone and afraid. Is this normal for humans living here? When will the fog come so that I can at least seek comfort in the presence of strangers? Soon, the thought assures me. Then we’ll move forward again and everything will become easier for a while.
I close my eyes and concentrate on these pleasant words. They’re meant to reassure me and help me survive this ordeal. We’re all going through similar problems, suffering from the effects of the poison. Once we understand why all of us should return to our former lives…
***
After traveling for approximately an hour, we leave the woods and make our way along a smooth path made of packed dirt. As soon as I step off the path into the grassy field, I catch sight of something floating in the air less than fifty yards ahead, descending slowly in front of me.
Something alive? Or maybe just a trick of the light? My mouth falls open as I take careful note of what’s actually there, surprised yet delighted to find a simple piece of fruit drifting before me in midair.
Just one—I want to gobble it down in one bite, but I settle for picking up the apple on the end of a blade of grass and then proceeding to chew a slow, deliberate slice until my hunger subsides. An enormous smile crosses my lips. This is how human beings eat food; this is how they exist after being abandoned by their own world!
But something’s bothering me—an obvious lack of thirst. Food must still be found in other places besides forests and farms; this is where people go hunting or pick crops. And wherever these places are located, why aren’t any animals in evidence?
The breeze carries a sweet and sour scent somewhere in the background and a fresh scent like flowers seems to fill the air.
Can it really have been months since I last went outside, six or seven days ago at most? Perhaps a little longer. When was it exactly that I died? Was it just yesterday morning or were those days lost to eternity too? Maybe there’s no need to worry about anything now.
It almost feels like the day after tomorrow, rather than the end of another life.
Before I continue chewing my apple, I look up at the small building of stone bricks which sits at the edge of the grass field we’ve reached and found a couple men sitting on wooden stools at tables inside the rectangular structure, speaking animatedly as they sip wine, while behind them three more looms like giants looking on.
None of these individuals seem to pay attention to our party at all. The air seems thinner, and harder to breathe compared to earlier.
The two men ignore us altogether, drinking in silence, and the woman who works with them takes her time refilling their glasses before turning back toward the counter she uses for storage. Behind them, several pails of dirty dishes lie unattended on the floor.
That means the women of this world can do menial tasks instead of having to carry out both jobs, the thought flashes across my mind in the split second I give the scene further consideration. While doing whatever work they choose, a lady in a skirt is bound to attract a great deal of unwelcome attention.
Who would want to endure such a fate? Only if she could somehow manage to disguise herself might things remain tolerable.
There’s only one place like that in this whole world, and that’s where we stand now. If I’d known about this tavern prior to leaving my apartment building, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to force my reluctant body through the door to get started on this journey.
How frustrating, thinking that! I swallow hard, fighting the urge to spit out half my drink. The next thing you know, I’m already feeling dizzy.
A round of applause sounds loudly in my ears and my head starts swimming even faster. A row of patrons has formed on either side of the bar and there are at least ten of them counting the giant trio. Suddenly overcome by fear, I try to struggle toward the rear of the room but am unable to break free of their unrelenting grip on my shoulders.
Forcing myself to breathe deeply once again to keep calm, I peer around my captors and see the object of their congratulations standing some distance away: an imposing young man wearing a dark-blue shirt with black leather trousers, his hands resting comfortably atop a white cane.
He’s got golden hair falling to his shoulders and a pleasant smile decorating his face. Judging from everything I can observe with my eyesight alone, he looks like a completely average kind of guy. Unless of course one considers his age as well, a ripe young twenty years old.
Then, nothing about him could be described as ordinary. Standing nearly eight feet tall, he towers over everyone else in the entire establishment, dwarfing the man next to him whom I noticed moments ago. Everyone gazes upon him adoringly, including me and the few men I’m struggling against right now.
They must be under orders not to hurt anyone, not unless it’s absolutely necessary.
Why I wonder, did I ever consider doing this at all? Oh dear… what’s happened to me? No doubt there’s going to be trouble when we tell them the truth, for sure. The man to the left of the young fellow holds a tankard up high, moving it closer to the ceiling by increments with every beat of his powerful arms.
What’s this glass he keeps lifting higher? Just beer? Or will it turn out to be liquor? Right now, it doesn’t matter. Whatever happens from hereon won’t affect me in the slightest—that’s how confident I am.
My fingers dig into my palm so tightly that there’s probably no chance my hand will regain its normal shape by itself. Still trying to fight my way free, I hear loud laughter coming from behind me, and several of my assailants step aside in surprise.
Moving only slightly forward to peek over their shoulder at who’s approaching us along the wooden walkway connecting the walls, I discover it’s the person whose words first ignited the conversation between those men at the table nearby.
She walks toward us wearing a short pink dress and a long strand of silver beads hangs down around her neck. When her gaze falls upon the bearded giant, the tall blond girl closes her mouth in disapproval. Obviously, she’s irritated. Her cheeks puff out dramatically.
Even though this area of the city is inhabited entirely by men, I don’t think they’re used to seeing pretty ladies dressed this strangely. But that doesn’t make sense, because no matter where I go, I always notice women and children wherever I am.
And while they aren’t necessarily beautiful in the same manner as a girl might appear in Japan, they certainly never take themselves too seriously.
As she strolls closer, I recognize the girl as someone I saw passing near my home yesterday afternoon, then watched as she passed the corner leading to that dead-end road. She was younger than me, probably only twelve or thirteen—a cute little girl named Elise who apparently comes here quite often to visit family friends.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the men on my right wanted to make fun of her appearance for the sake of a good laugh. Just like that, an overwhelming number of voices start talking at once. So many people, each one louder than the last, my ears start ringing. It becomes impossible for me to comprehend any individual phrase.
Everything around me seems to blur together. Laughter, shouts, clapping hands; at that moment everything appears clear as day yet out of reach forevermore. Every sound is muffled by a blanket of silence. I feel dizzy again, but not from a lack of air.
It’s just too much noise. Too difficult to think straight. Here, at the edge of the crowd, I catch a glimpse of an open door where three young boys were sitting earlier, waiting patiently outside for friends. Only one remains there today, watching attentively as his companions discuss various topics among themselves.
Though he’s much taller than most Japanese kids, I don’t find the boy particularly intimidating, the way the guys near me do. No, for some reason I actually trust him. His attention seems focused solely on something other than himself.
With that thought, I begin to realize why these men act so fearful and agitated. I’ll show them. Despite their best efforts, I remain perfectly calm. To prove to them I can still think clearly, I give my attackers another shove forward, sending all their bodies crashing backward onto the floor.
There’s so much noise in here that I can no longer perceive my surroundings with any degree of clarity, which is exactly how I intended. However, it seems to have gotten somewhat confusing for my would-be captors. I must look ridiculous, acting out like this.
Yet I’m not afraid of looking foolish—not anymore. I’ve made my decision, and whatever consequences may come from it are a problem for someone else to deal with. A great weight lifts off my chest as I force myself to stand firm amidst the chaos—the turmoil brought about by my own actions.
Now I wish more than anything that I had never gone this far. Cursing silently to myself for being such a fool, I wait in suspense for an opening. My focus is sharpening in preparation for my attack. If I don’t move now, none of these men will live to regret it.
From somewhere above the din, I hear a male voice calling, “Ikiru!” before it trails off into the distance. The name alone causes me to pause in surprise. I’ve heard that word repeated several times tonight already, but I didn’t know it meant something in particular.
The End