~ Just a Story ~

A road weary traveller arrives at a bleak, treeless land, where winds race with abandon like children at play and rains are only an infrequent visitor, always busy with engagements else where and never staying long.

A stark landscape indeed.

This traveller has been to many places and seen many sights. He has marvelled at the beauty of countrysides untouched and untainted by human civilization; he has walked in great cities and sprawling towns, giants and colossuses in architectural beauty. But he has never felt that he belonged. Always a passer-by.

Yet, something about the austerity of this newfound land, the simplicity and innocence of it, struck a cord within him and resonated in his being.
Perhaps he was just bone-weary from the years of travelling, or perhaps he has really found a place he can call home.

He asked the locals around what this place was called, and they told him it's ridiculous name. Cactus Land. He laughed at the naivety of these backward indigenious people, yet found the name oddly apt, for only cactuses flourished here. They needed no watering and patronage from the fickle rains, yet stood strong and resilient against the gleeful winds.

He sees much potential in this land, barren and inhospitable it might see to the casual looker, yet filled with limitless possibilities he could see with such clarity. He realises in shock his intense attraction for this strange and unfamiliar place and knows that his future has suddenly crystalised before him.

He knows that Attraction, like a prowling thief, has crept up behind him suddenly and closed its hands around his neck in a viselike grip. And he could only yield to it's demands.

However, the closer he got, the more he realised the daunting task before him. A chasm, enshrouded in fog, seperates him from his destination. He hears from the locals that many have passed this way, and not a few, lured by the siren's call of the land, have tried to cross the divide and fell to their deaths. The more intelligent ones, knowing when to give up, left unharmed, carrying with them only a vague sense of regret as they proceeded on with life's winding journey. The daring and ambitious leaped bravely, headlong across the yawning hole, and plunged even more bravely down. Some have managed to survive, pulling their battered bodies out, crawling away to nurse their wounds. They recovered and wore their scars like badges of honour, while others never did, crippled and twisted, body and soul. Yet a few, never able to muster up their courage to try, built crude huts around the area, and lived out their days hoping and dreaming of a future never to come.

As he stood at the edge of the chasm, wondering at his probable fate, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Like an expert flirt, sometimes revealing abit of clevage to egg him on, sometimes acting haughty and nonchalant, the mist distorted his sense of perception. The distance seemed so close at times, that a light effortless hop would deliver him there, yet at other times, he could not even catch a glimpse of the other edge, so far as it was to him.

He decided then, not to rely on his deciving eyes and carry false hope, but to use his bare hands and an iron will to reach his destination. Scoop by scoop, he poured sand into the chasm, for he did not want to tread on insubstantial air, but to step on solid ground as he made slow, excruciating progress towards his dream. Some people think that he is just wasting his time, and that it has become an unjustified obsession. Some people pity this tireless traveller, whom after walking countless miles, is now scooping countless scoops of sand.

It doesnt matter anymore to him what was his initial reason for wanting to cease his endless footsteps at this place. He does not contemplate whether this would be his final resting place, or if it is going to be just another stop-over. He doesnt care whether Attraction has slunk off in search of other prey, because it's palmprints have been burned and embedded around his neck. All he knows is, he has poured abit of him in, together with the countless grains of sand and this place would forever have a part of him, regardless of whether his efforts would bear any fruits. All he cares is, if he just stands up and walk away, there would be an End, and all the 'what-ifs' will rise and plague him forever.

Some say he is still bent over there, relentlessly scooping away.