Line

Line

The line. All he’s ever known is that he has to walk only on this line. As far as he can see, in all possible directions, is a white and empty void. No one else is with him, no one speaks to him, no one looks at him. When he gets tired, a bed will pop up on the line in front of him, granting him a few hours of rest before he must walk again. When he gets hungry or thirsty food and water will appear, to give him strength to continue the line. The one thing that will not magically appear in front of him, is another human being. 

The man cannot remember how he ended up in this situation. For all he knows he could have been walking down this line his entire life. Not knowing where he’s going, or where the line ends, just walking. He was never held at gun point or threatened or forced to walk said line, in fact, the man isn’t even sure why he walks on the line. What purpose does this serve? Who benefits from his walking? Does he actually want to walk on the line, or is he just doing what might be expected of him? And who would expect this from him? 

The only sounds that reach his ears are his own footsteps, gently padding on the hard floor. The man wonders what would happen if he began to feel bored, what would pop up then? Absentmindedly the man begins to think of color, even though he’s not entirely sure what color is exactly. Something other than this black line, something other than this pure white world. As if on queue, the line beneath his feet turns to a color so bright he has to look away, only to be bombarded with an assortment of colors that he’s never seen before, or he has seen before but he’s long forgotten them. 

A warm feeling spreads through the man as he flexes his mind, willing the line to become a cool, light color instead of the dull black he always stares at. The man can feel a tugging in his mind, a sensation of being watched begins to run through him but he doesn’t care, with his mind no one can possibly stop him. A crazy thought trails through his mind, what would happen if he stepped off of the line? Would the line follow him? Or would he suddenly disappear? 

Frankly the man didn’t care what happened as he stepped off of his line for the first time. Nothing changed, except for the wild world of colors he had created. He felt the sensation of being watched increase as a smile broke on his face, a laugh leaving his chapped lips. Almost like a child the man began to wonder what was beyond the whiteness of this world, what was beyond the white ceilings above him. As he wondered he noticed a change in his world, a tall wooden ladder had appeared in front of him, balanced on nothing but the air it seemed. 

Gleefully the man jumped onto the ladder, scurrying up it as fast as he possibly could to find his freedom. There suddenly came a tugging on the mans legs, the line was calling out to him, begging for him to come back and restart his life once more. The man fought and fought the strength of the line, ultimately willing some sort of flying contraption to swoop down and break the hold of control that had been on him for so long. As the man began to fly out of his personal prison he took one last glance at the life he had lived for so long, shocked to see that the line had converted back to its original color. An even bigger shock to the man was the realization that the line wasn’t a line at all, but a massive circle that he had been trekking in for as long as he could remember. The man could feel it, the bonds of slavery had been broken off of his hands as he let out a shout he never could have created when he was with the line. 

With the power of the mans mind, he broke through the white ceiling and into the beautiful world he had been blind to for so long.