Writing Prompt for 06/27/2023
"You don't want to go that way. People are known to disappear off that road."
The young man looked at the sign that pointed to the different ways to go. He had been traveling for over a day and was ready to just be at his destination. He did not have the mental strength to think about which direction was the right one. He turned to his guide.
"Do you know where all of the roads lead?" He asked. There were three of them. They fanned forward directly ahead of them. Like spokes on an umbrella. Each had a sign. Each sign once had letters that were legible. Now, the paint had faded away and you could barely tell they ever said anything at all.
"I know the first road on the left leads to a big mansion. They have parties there every night. Crowds of people."
The young man sighed. He had enough of crowds of people. People always surrounded him, wanting to touch him. Wanting his autograph. He was trying to get away from that.
"No, not that one. Where does the middle road lead?" He studied the old man. His grey hair glistened in the sunlight. He looked very wise. The young man was suddenly glad that he had him as a guide.
"To a park. With children playing. But, the things they play on are old-fashioned. There is one of those metal carousels that you spin by hand, while the children sit on it. There are parents there as well." The guide explained
Of course. It WAS all about families in this world after all. Single people did not matter. He knew. He was single. She was... Wait. Stop. Don't think about that. Bad idea.
"What about the third one?" The young man brushed back his long hair. It was hot. Why hadn't he thought of putting it up into a ponytail or something? It stuck to the back of his neck. The heat was sweltering.
"You don't want to go that way. People are known to disappear off that road."
It was a bright road at first. Then the trees met overhead with their branches, and it was difficult to see beyond. You could barely tell that it curved in the distance.
"Like they were never seen again?" He asked.
"Correct."
The young man smiled at the old man. He started down the third road.
"Wait, you will disappear!" The guide yelled at him, fear filling his voice.
"I know. That is the point." The young man kept walking, ignoring the yelling pleas of the old man he left behind.
He followed the road for a while and came to a train station. People were coming from all different roads, that led up to the station. People were boarding the train. Great, he thought. Another crowd. He braced himself. Waiting for someone to notice him. Point him out. Then, it would begin. The pushing, shoving papers into his face wanting an autograph. He just wanted a room, with a bed, some peace and quiet.
"Mr. Jeffreys." I have your car ready.
He looked up, and saw the old man. The guide.
"How did you get here so fast?" He asked.
"What do you mean, Sir. I have always been here." The old man replied.
He led the young man to the end of the train, to a private car. The young man boarded the train to find a car with a bed, a couch, and a table.
The couch was a maroon red. Almost the color of blood. It stood in contract against the white carpet. He stood there agape.
She was there. Sitting on the couch. Staring at him.
"How-Wh-Wh-Where am I, and how are you here?" He stammered. He suddenly allowed himself to remember.
They were driving. Down a country road. A horse had gotten out of its paddock. Ran into the road. He swerved to miss the horse. The car rolled. She died. He lived. They were very young when it happened, and he never remarried. Never had kids. Became a famous author. Grew old.
But here she was. Young. Beautiful. Alive. It was impossible. His young hand slid into hers. All was well. Sometimes disappearing was a good thing.
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