"The Road Less Traveled"

 

For a while, I thought it was the one I saw in front of me, stretching from left to right like a smile and crossing my entire range of vision. I observed only one car moving along the road the whole time I was there. It motored forward swiftly and steadily, its pace like that of a hawk approaching prey.

Then lights came on above me. I saw them reflected into lanes across the rolling sky. A large bird rose from the top of a telephone pole and traveled west along that overhead highway. It was just a trick of the eyes.

Yet knowing that it was a trick--does that really make a difference?

"The Bus Stop at the End of the Line"

Hard to see, but there really is a bus stop next to the traffic signal, just at the edge of this forest preserve path.

You can get drunk before you write your farewell note, if you think that'll make it easier. You can put pills and razor blades in your bag, along with whatever else you choose. You can drop your keys through a gap in the sewer grate once you lock the front door and then say, "No turning back now."

You can do all of these things, and the bus driver will still let you board the bus, so long as you keep quiet and pay with exact change. 

The bus driver will let you ride the entire route, all the way to the stop at the end of the line. The stop won't look anything like the gritty terminal you expected, though. Instead, when the door opens, in front of you will be a simple path leading who knows where, it's tough to see in the dark, but leading somewhere. You'll look at the bus driver, confused and uncertain. The bus driver will smile sadly and say, "This is the end." 

What he means is, "It doesn't have to be if you don't want it to."

"Trail Closes at Dark"

 

"Funny. It's dark out, and I still see a trail here."

"That's just to keep people safe from the monsters that come out later."

"Hey, I can still put my foot on the trail. Must be staying open late today."

"Or it's a trap, so that police have a reason to lock up the two teenagers they see walking around the neighborhood after dark."

"Look, I've got both feet on the trail now. You know, I do believe that sign is lying to us. I think--"

"Ethan? What the--Ethan? Where are you? Ethan!"

"Preservation"

 

The guide led her tourists along a path that weaved its way up the face of the cliff like a snake ascending a brick wall. At the summit, she brought them to stand next to a great brazier, encased in stone, the top of which met most of the people just above eye level.

"Braziers like this one were used in the eleventh and twelfth centuries almost like altars," she explained. "During religious ceremonies, fires for the gods were built inside of them, and sad to say, often times as part of the ceremony, a live animal or even a human being was thrown into the fire for a sacrifice." Most of the tour group groaned; a few people shuddered. One man off to the side said, "Cool."

The tour guide crept toward the group and slightly lifted her head. "Would you believe," she whispered, "that this brazier is still in use today?" She stepped back and lifted her hand, palm up, toward the structure; a middle-aged man took the cue. He stood on his toes and peeked over the rim. The rest of them did the same. 

The brazier's bowl was filled not with bones or body parts but with soil, rich and brown, adorned with flecks of glossy minerals. In the center a colony of plants had started to grow. Small though the plants were, their essential structures had begun to take form, and they were distinctive: leaves like folded circles, stems like musical horns, fruits like jugs of water hanging from a hook.

"The Department of Preservation has been using the braziers as demo gardens for some of the native plant species that are facing a loss of resources," the guide said with a smile. "As we continue our hike, you'll see more of these brazier gardens, and I'll also be able to point out the plants in their natural habitat along the way." She gestured toward the next segment of the path, and most of the group headed toward it, except for one young man, the man who had said, "Cool." He remained peering over the edge of the bowl.

"These plants," he said as the guide approached him. "Aren't they all carnivorous?"

"Ah, you're very smart," said the guide, who bent down, grabbed him by the ankle, and hoisted him head first into the brazier. A growl, low like the wind, rustled the bodies of all the little plants inside. But the guide put her finger to her lips as she walked away. "The sand pits are next on the tour," she called ahead to the group. "Be sure not to go too far without me."

"Possibilities"

 

The night before she was scheduled to perform what was probably her twentieth gastric resection, Dr. Bennett dropped three eggs. She had intended to boil an egg for her dinner, but each time she removed one from the package, it slipped free of her fingers, as if it were perfectly natural for that to happen whenever someone took an egg from the fridge. She studied the hands she saw cleaning the yolk from the tiles and tried to imagine that they belonged to someone else.

Mr. Hart's gastric resection went fine. After the procedure, however, Dr. Bennett took her lunch at a nearby park. There she watched an elderly woman in mismatched clothes throw bread crusts to the ducks. She wished she could catch a better glimpse of the old woman's hands. She wondered if the woman was happy, feeding the ducks like that, but knew it was better not to ask.

"Chicago Politics"

 

The polling place was located in a building with hallways that seemed tucked away inside each other's turns and bends, like the coils of a snake.

When the two people, having voted, finally found a door that led outside, they discovered that snow had fallen heavily since they entered.

"Wasn't this the way we got here?" one asked.

"You know, I don't really remember," said the other.

Footsteps marched away from the doorway.

"If nothing else, other people have tried going this way before, so it's bound to be right!" the first one decided. Together they left the building and instantly got lost in the blizzard.

Neither could afford the bill the city sent for their rescue.

"The Common Path"

 

"I saw a piece like this at an art exhibit last year," Ada said to her grandmother as they walked. "Some artist dumped snow all over a space inside and had people walk a path across most of it, except at one point a set of footprints veered away from the main path."

"And what was the message of that one? Wait, let me guess," said Mrs. Alvarez. "The melting snow represented all the money the museum was pissing away on stuff it called 'modern art.' Eh?" She bared her dentures in a smile. "Am I right?"

Ada patted her shoulder. "It was the artist suggesting that it doesn't matter whether or not you do something different from everyone else--we all fade and die in the end."

Mrs. Alvarez frowned, trying to shoo away the thought with a wave of her hand. "Ah, you always remember the ones who break away from the crowd," she said. "Did I ever tell you about Jack Derany, from summer camp? We took quite a few of our own hikes apart from the group, if you know what I mean." And Ada's eyes widened and the snow crunched under her boots as the two continued down a path traveled by many people before, the one along which people learn that their family members are human after all.