At the Crossroads

Standing at the crossroads of eternity.

He stands at the crossroads amidst a storm wind and rain. Behind him is the rosey glow of a slowly fading dusk; the fleeting rumour of days never to come again, days that perhaps never even were.

He looks ahead, for ahead is all there is. But the road branches out into fractalized infinity.

Some paths are wide and flat, smoothed by the passage of endless feet through the endless turning of the ages. They’re lined with lanterns and promise ease, but all seem to end in darkness.

Others are steep, strewn with rocks, and choked by root and vine. They lie in shadows, and promise struggle, and end with pale, flickering lights.

A few are so narrow and overgrown as to not seem paths at all. They weave their way through vast wildernesses of skeletal trees within which any false step could mean his doom, yet beyond awaits the distant glow of gold.

He hesitates, for how can such a choice be made?

The wind and rain rage around him and far off, the Hound of Time howls in its relentless pursuit. It draws ever nearer. The hand of the Hound’s terrible master is nigh. A choice must be made or he will never make another choice again.

He takes a step, and his course is now irreparably set.

All other paths melt away into that infinite nothingness where dwell all things that could have been yet never were.

On this path he will tirelessly walk, until, one day, he will stand at the crossroads once again.

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Thank you for your time and attention.