Friday, July 9, 2010

The Traveller

The road did go on and on, much like the song from Lord of the Rings.
This isn't so different, the Traveller thought, continuing along his path of self-destruction. Almost like a scene from Dante's Inferno the city was ablaze and reminiscent of hell.. yet the Traveller walked alone, empty of all feeling. His was hell and oddly enough he revelled in it.
Around him were all scenes from a horror novel, yet he did not flinch, observing with humour, even, those visions of gore and destruction, of dangers in the open and dangers yet to come.
Fear, it seemed, had no hold for him. None others walked the road he did.
And as he walked, he grew aware of time, of distance, then, as his stride dropped to a crawl. There was a light at the end of his tunnel, and he did not like it. He hated it, with all his will, for it showed him the path to a place he had grown to detest.
Yet he had to walk out, and when he did, the skies brightened, the sun shone down upon him brightly, and sounds of gaiety and carnevale were in the air.
And the man waiting outside that door proclaimed in a thin reedy voice:
"Thank you for walking through the House of Horrors, that will be twenty-five rupees. Enjoy the circus."