A boy walks along a path. For miles he walks, but he never tires, is never bored. Around him the scenery is constantly in flux, colors racing across the sky, the ground sprouting trees which become buildings, then mountains then deserts and forest, but the path never deviates. For miles he walks, until he comes to a point where pale, transparent shapes twist in the air in front of him and he can walk no further. The boy stops.
"Will you love me?" The boy asks the shapes.
"Yes" says one, but the boy does not know which, for all the shapes are moving constantly and through each other.
"Yes" says another, then it too is gone.
"Yes" say two together, then a third joins in "Yesyesyesyesyesyes
yes
yes
yes ysyess
yes
yes yesyesyes
They twist and turn in the air before him, their yes's overlapping and criss-crossing in the air. Desperate, the boy snatches at the air, but as soon as his fingertips brush one of the shapes.
They
all
just
disappear.
Confused, the boy slowly resumes walking. The path has not changed, but the boy is sure something is different.
overhead.
Black goes the sky, then grey, then blue. A single cloud drifts
The boy has been walking a while. The day is bright and he is content. He has his eyes closed, humming some nameless tune, when he bumps into something in his path.
There's
a
bronze
p
i
l
l
a
r
right in the middle of the path.
The sides of the pillar are constantly rippling, seemingly molten, but when the boy, tentatively, lays the palm of his hand against the metal, it is firm to the touch, and warm from the afternoon sunlight.
"Will you love me?" the boy says into the warm bronze.
The metal under his hand grows hotter in response to his question.
This is good enough for the boy. He sits, resting his head against pillar, letting the sun beat down on his face. Warm, happy and loved, the boy slowly falls asleep.
When he wakes, he is on the ground. Scared, he looks around for his pillar.
At first he thinks it is gone, but as he stands he notices a small rock on the path where he had been lying. A tiny rock, no bigger than an apple seed, made of bronze.
Now the sky is pink. In his pocket the boy carries with him his tiny pillar, wondering if it will get larger again.
He takes it out and looks at it again. It has been a long time since he last stopped walking, the boy realises, though he knows time has little meaning where he is.
The boy stares at the rock, willing it to grow large, so it takes him some time to notice the light tugging on his collar. When he finally looks up, he is surprised to see that before him stands a figure made of pure, liquid gold.
From the gold figure's side sprout two approximations of arms, ending in two tiny hooks it has been trying to use to gain his attention. It is supported on two stumpy legs and it's head is a strange dome shape without a neck. As the boy watches, the figure starts to shake and quiver and in one sudden movement it sprang into the air.
Down
up
and
it went and with each bounce the golden figure's limbs ran together and its head sank into its chest and finally all that remained were two sparkling eyes in a constantly moving, golden ball.
The boy held out his hand and the ball landed in it.
"Will you love me?" he asked the ball, and it bounded out of his hand, leaping up and down around him. Pleased, the boy ran and the ball kept pace until finally he couldn't run any further and he collapsed, gasping for breathe. The ball bounced lazily beside him, its two eyes staring at him inquisitively.
But now that he had run so far and so fast, he suddenly felt tired. The boy struggled to keep awake, for he didn't want to lose the ball like he'd lost the pillar, but the sky went black and his eyes would not stay open.
And sure enough, when he woke, the ball had become as small as a speck of dust and it's eyes were no longer visible, but it still shined like gold.
The boy picked up the tiny gold ball and put it in his pocket.
And he kept on walking, down the path that seemingly had no end, with the sky and landscape shifting all around him.
Epilogue
A young man walks along a path. For miles he walks, but he never tires, is never bored. Around him the scenery is constantly in flux, colors racing across the sky, the ground sprouting deserts and forests which become mountains, then buildings, then trees, but the path never deviates. For miles he walks, until he comes to a point where another path intersects his own. The man has never see a crossroads before, and he sits, wondering which way he should go. As he sits, he takes small things from his pockets, too small for anyone to see except him, and he polishes them, or admires them in the light, throws things up to catch or simply closes his eyes and is still.
He glances along the crossroads again and sees something moving, far off in the distance. Content to wait, he relaxes, watching the sky and a solitary cloud that drifts overhead.
Finally, a young woman arrives at the crossing. The young man, does not know what to say, he has never met her like before.
"Will you love me?" she asks him.
