113. The Grey Desert

There were days, when the wind picked up and clouds of monochrome dust rose, that the sky and earth seemed to blend together. Their borders blurred, barren grey earth bleeding into a beige sky until even that faint trace of yellow faded.

People described the place as lonely. One could sit atop a cliffside overlooking the jagged landscape for weeks and see no life, see no movements beyond the wind and the swaying of the few bare trees that managed to sprout from the ground.

You could sit there for weeks, but in truth, time never quite felt real there. Perhaps it was because he’d been born inside that realm—it might be different for an outsider. But to him, when the sky never changed and the dusty desert formed such a familiar outline, it no longer mattered what hour it was.

Sometimes, on days where he felt like walking for longer, he would move deeper into the realm just to catch a glimpse of the other residents there. He used to think that was where he should be, where he belonged, but while he did receive some comfort from the task, he’d quickly realized that he was not, in fact, the same as them. They were more a part of the landscape than they were their own individuals. He could approach them, even speak to them, but the next time he saw them they would forget again.

He never took it personally. He understood. These figures who were a little bit but not entirely like him embodied timelessness and easy passing. They faded and reappeared, and in a desert that never changed, they were the balancing force of impermanence.

And so, he stayed away from the others, only going back every now and then to check on them or for the rare procession. When those did happen, for a few fleeting hours, the event would transform the place into something that anyone could find beautiful.

Instead, he spent the majority of his time atop the cliff sides by himself, trying to learn how to let time pass him through. He could decide to sleep and decide to wake up at arbitrary hours, but none of it particularly mattered. He didn’t need sleep to function, but he did it anyway because that’s what the people in the lake did.

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The lake was, perhaps, the sole reliable source of movement in that space. After he’d stumbled upon it one day, he’d known it would come to define his life.

Though he called it a lake, it was more accurately a crater situated atop one of the sheer cliffs. Perfectly round in shape, its surface, too, was flat and smooth, and he could easily walk across it. It was slippery, silky to the touch in a way wholly different to the matte and dry textures of the rest of the realm. And within that strange substance, he could stand there, look down, and catch a glimpse into another world.

There was a realm with a wine colored sky, so bright and vivid that his eyes had hurt when he’d first seen it. A realm of tall, odd boxy shapes and winding roads without rhyme nor reason. And most importantly of all, a realm where the unmistakable figures of people lived. People who looked a lot like him.

It became an integral part of his routine, to stare into that strange surface. The images that flashed by were often disjointed and random, zipping wildly between different areas, but always under that same red sky. He learned to recognize certain figures that appeared repeatedly. He learned to distinguish between the changes in their faces, their mannerisms and odd gestures.

He saw laughter, fighting, and life.

And sometimes, when he kneeled at the center of the lake and pressed a hand against its smooth surface, just over the images that passed by, he would feel, for a brief moment, that he was part of them too.

But no matter how often he’d tried, the surface of that lake was a boundary that couldn’t be crossed. He could lash out at it, could cleave the ground surrounding it away, but it would always remain tranquil and undisturbed. It was a place meant to be watched, not touched.

That was how it remained for many, many years. That was how time passed.

Until, one day, the surface of that lake shone. The images disappeared, absorbed by a blinding, radiant golden light.

He’d stood and stumbled back, trying to run from that burning radiance. And then the ground beneath him had shifted.

Where once was smooth and impenetrable, his next steps sunk down, and down, and down.

In the end, all he could do was let himself fall.