Crossroads , page 1

Crossroads
As shadows make their slow trek across the wall, jubilant and rejoicing in that giant ball-of-hope's retreat, the weary traveler concedes defeat on the day's journey, stopping this harsh winter's eve to rest her body and rejuvenate her soul.

At this desolate crossroads where plant nor beast roam, she spots a circle of stones, used in the past by herself and many others to bring light in this blanket of darkness and warmth to the heart. Bland grey stone columns, chipped and cracked cobble walls, the worn and weed-ridden path she has traveled many times before, all spring to life as the strike of her flint enables flame to dance on her collection of dried leaves and barkless rotted logs.

Twisting around to reach her saddlebags, in search of those wicked cancer sticks she cannot ignore, her eye catches a brief flicker of light on one particular spot, on one particular wall. She allows a faint smile to caress her lips- not one of happiness, but of recognition. Oh yes, she knows that singular section of wall very well-- she added to it last, continuing her creation farther and farther along courtyard.

As each traveler passes through this location of choice, cursing dusk and building shelter against the brisk snow carrying winds, their search for material yields nothing, so they must use a piece of themselves to guard from the elements. A small piece of heart for love lost, a bit of soul for hope that died. Centuries of lonely hearted fools have made this exact journey, stopping in this exact spot, and left pieces of themselves for history to forget. She herself has been here before, many a time. Oh yes, she knows that wall.

Dusting the snow off her jeans, she stands up, allows her guilty pleasure to flame to life, and saunters over, allowing herself a quick drag. Ignorant of the harsh sleet pelting her face, her eyes begin to tear. Tears that quickly freeze on her cheeks while her focus is so targeted.

Reaching her hand out, she gently runs a finger over her last building block, feeling the beat of her heart, the torture of her soul. Standing there, sobbing silently, feeling the cursed pain associated with her last journey through this junction, she quietly remembers why she is here this horrid night.

Eyes becoming faucets, legs unable to support, she falls to her knees wailing. Head down, unaware of the surroundings, she reaches deep inside and pulls out a piece of her exploding heart. Without looking, she reaches up and slams it into place with all her remaining might. As the tears begin to subside and her breath slows, she stands and turns to leave. Hesitating, she turns back one last time, examining the wall she has built over the years, recognizing where each and every block came from. Kissing her first two fingers and gently touching them to her latest addition, she turns away--tears completely dry, spirit worn and tattered, her heavy feet leading her back to the resting place.

Plopping down, resting her back against the fallen, ice-covered column, she wraps herself in her overcoat, which offers very limited protection from the howling northern winds. As the fire begins to die, she realizes she's been staring at a fork in the road--- THE fork that every traveler before has stared at. Regret sets in, for she knows tomorrow she must choose which way to go.

The path on the right, the one she knows so well, is very well lit. She has traveled that path each and every time she found herself at this junction, and every time she wound up right back here. Emotional torture and heartache line that path, fragrant flowers for her to pick, yet she feels a comfort with traveling that direction--she knows exactly where she'll end up.

The path on the left is one of darkness and mystery. Although she hasn't traversed in that direction, she has known a few that have, and they were never seen at this junction again, their walls eternally left unfinished. It is full of mystery and fear, and she has no idea where it will end.

A slight shiver runs up her spine, but she doesn't know if it's from the cold or thinking about the dark path. As her eyelids droop and the world begins to blacken, she wonders which direction her feet will carry her tomorrow.........