The Crossroads

"Where do you think you're going?"

The question rang in Charles' mind, followed only by silence. Where was he going, among the roads of life paved before him? Where had he come from? Where was he now?

There was a crossroads about the ways of life, a crossroads that he now found himself standing beside. The previous road was finished, the obligations once plaguing him purged, and Charles realized that he could now wander wherever he wanted. Wherever he wanted -- but where? His mind spun. Should he continue on with the former path? Or perhaps a turn to the left would be better. No, the right. The right looked the most welcoming; its brick path flowed down the vast expanse of fields and valleys like a melodious stream. The left curved upwards, but there was something glittering at the top; something that called out, beckoning him to see what it was. And still, there was the middle path; mundane, the path that was always there for him to take.

He frowned. Three options lay before him -- innocent, straightforward, and yet all-too-difficult to decide. He turned his glance back to the right, then ahead, then behind. Thoughts boiled inside: What would come out of each? What surprises did each one hold? What didn't he know about them, and what did he know, and what could he do with what he knew, and how could he find out what he didn't?

The man gave a frustrated grunt and threw himself onto the ground beside the crossroads, allowing the soft grass to envelop him and the tender clouds to bob by overhead. Yes, he decided; this was his choice. He would lay here, for who-knew-how-long. And he was content.