Danny trudged down a lonely dirt road in stagnant heat, unsure of where he had come from and where he would go. Pulled tightly against his shoulder blades was a backpack with half a bottle of water, a journal with no pen, a map left unused and a wallet with 38 cents and an ID that wasn’t his. Whether Danny’s name was his or not was irrelevant, because he couldn’t remember it anyway. He had been walking so long that he had forgotten. Down that lonely road was a tall sign that directed lost travelers to the nearest town or gas station or restroom. It was colorful and cheery, with hand-painted, white lettering. The many arrow- shaped signs directed to strange places like a metropolis, a flower shop or delectables. And how curious that all the signs pointed in the same direction. Danny stared down that lonely road with tired old eyes as the sun began to set. He let out an exhausted sigh and fell to his knees, kicking up dust all around him. Footsteps sounded from behind. A girl stopped a body length away from him in complete silence. Danny stood up with a remarkable |
lack of grace. When he presented himself as respectably as a man caught off guard in worn clothing could, she asked him for directions. Danny tilted his head in confusion, pointing up to the signs as if to say, There’s only one way, girly.
“I feel like I’ve been walking forever. I must be lost, right?” the girl said. Danny shook his head. She was not lost. Simply traveling, and he assured her that there was no looking back. They could only go forward.
So for years, the two locked arms and traveled together—two wayward vagabonds with no destination and no history, no future and no past. Day by day, they taught each other what they could remember, passing flower shop and metropolis after flower shop and metropolis for thousands and thousands and thousands of miles. Their shoes wore through, and soon their feet calloused and they walked barefoot. Their backpacks tore and faded, and their skin became browned and burnt.
At some point in everyone’s journey, one must come to terms with their history—unknown or not. The girl, whose name had never been discussed through the years, grew tired.
“But we’re so young!” Danny protested.
“But our minds are so old!” the girl argued.
To prove her point, she looked Danny in the eye, taking his hands in hers. Together, they took one step backward after another. With each step, the flowers and grass and trees lost color and faded into oblivion. With each step, their skin dried and wrinkled, their spines shrunk and cracked, and their hands became small and brittle.
Thirteen steps back, the world around them had disappeared, and with one final goodbye, the two travelers ended their worldly expeditions with a feeling of incompleteness, but they met their fate with open arms. They died, as we all may, without ever having lived.
“I feel like I’ve been walking forever. I must be lost, right?” the girl said. Danny shook his head. She was not lost. Simply traveling, and he assured her that there was no looking back. They could only go forward.
So for years, the two locked arms and traveled together—two wayward vagabonds with no destination and no history, no future and no past. Day by day, they taught each other what they could remember, passing flower shop and metropolis after flower shop and metropolis for thousands and thousands and thousands of miles. Their shoes wore through, and soon their feet calloused and they walked barefoot. Their backpacks tore and faded, and their skin became browned and burnt.
At some point in everyone’s journey, one must come to terms with their history—unknown or not. The girl, whose name had never been discussed through the years, grew tired.
“But we’re so young!” Danny protested.
“But our minds are so old!” the girl argued.
To prove her point, she looked Danny in the eye, taking his hands in hers. Together, they took one step backward after another. With each step, the flowers and grass and trees lost color and faded into oblivion. With each step, their skin dried and wrinkled, their spines shrunk and cracked, and their hands became small and brittle.
Thirteen steps back, the world around them had disappeared, and with one final goodbye, the two travelers ended their worldly expeditions with a feeling of incompleteness, but they met their fate with open arms. They died, as we all may, without ever having lived.