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The Road

The dog walks along the road.

Didot, the name of neither dog nor road, rather a class of fonts, the class of fonts used for the poster in the shop window that can be seen just behind the dog. The reflection of the dog nonexistent. This world itself does not exist. It is all a lie.

Bark. Not the dog. No, the dog is a mute. The dog is now passing a birch tree. The bark of the birch is painted pink, much more interesting than the dumbness of the dog. Moving on.

The world continues to be a lie.

The birch tree waves now, he is friends with the dog. They often spoke, the two of them. Mute. They were both unable to speak, communicating via a shared connection with the void that is reality. There is a sadness in the way the tree waves at his old friend. Perhaps the tree intends to not live long enough to see his acquaintance once more. The dog feels the sadness, but does not weep for his friend.

Running. How did the dog get here? He does not run, a river runs. There is a river now. There was no river by the tree. Perhaps the tree is now dead, and this river is the stream of tears that flow from those that miss the branches the tree spread over the sidewalk.

Why bother with transitions; nothing is real.

The child hates himself. It is he that let the dog walk the road. Without his sheer lack of interference the dog would never have felt the sadness of the birch as it accepted its inevitable fate of nonexistence.

Blackness. The pupils of both child and dog dilate, creating massive black voids reminiscent of the universe itself. Nothing is real. Perhaps their eyes are not green.

Was it his upbringing that disallowed the child from accepting the inevitability of the world? Nothing means anything. The child’s actions meant as little as his standing by.

The next sun rose. Its efforts are unappreciated. It is merely expected to repeat this ritual daily. Slave to the preconceptions of its observers, as meaningless as they are.

The sun means nothing in both body and soul. Even the imagination of the dog gives it no meaning. Nothing can change that.

Russian. Neither dog nor child speak it. Nothing in the scene could be considered Russian if not for the music. Quietly, in the background. Folk music, perhaps in Russian.

The dog is tired. The boy did not think to feed the dog. Dogs are bred to not know their own limits, and so the dog will continue to walk along the road.

There is no end to the road.

The road, like life, is infinite. There is no meaning to its existence and it therefore cannot end. What is it like a kilometer or two down? The child does not know, he is but a child.

Sleep. The dog does not sleep. It does not understand the concept of sleep. Playing at death for a third the day. Rather not, imagined the dog, feeling for the birch long lost.