inspired by Borges

He had been walking through the labyrinth for what seemed like weeks. His mouth was filled with dust, his feet sore to the bone. All around him there was nothing but rock and dirt. The only thing that had kept him pressing onward was the thought of his goal: the City of Dreams.

He had spent his whole life searching, following the trail that had led him into this maze. Now up ahead he saw a gate, and he knew in his heart that the day had come — that his prize was finally within reach. He stepped through, stopped, and spun on his heel, expecting to see wonders beyond his wildest dreams.

But instead, he saw only a familiar sight: skyscrapers, trees, buildings that he knew. Streets whose names came easily to mind, because he’d walked them his entire life. Looking down at his worn boots, he realized that he had made a great circle — that he stood exactly where he’d started, outside of the building that he had once called home.

Then he looked up at the piercing blue sky, with its color like nothing he had seen in days; and he looked at the cars and the people and the trees, and all the world humming with movement and life. His days in the labyrinth had left him accustomed to solitude, quiet, and deathly still air. Now he felt intoxicated, enveloped, swept away.

Suddenly, he understood it all.

His quest was at an end. He had reached the City of Dreams.

He turned and went into the apartment, greeting his wife with a smile and a hug.