There is a place. On the other side of the wall. I can’t tell you what that place looks like. I see it in my dreams.
A castle. It’s made of marble. And millions of gemstones. They are embedded in every surface. They line the parapets. And spiral upwards in spires. The marble glistens as the twilight drifts away. The castle can’t exist. I would see its stark silhouette waiting for me over the wall. It rests on a mountain.
Every morning, I walked through the winding streets of my village up the hill, I’d tell my wife I was going to fetch some water, and I’d watch the wall. I’d put my bucket down and rest against the side of the well. I couldn’t tell you what I was waiting for, but I could feel that something was waiting for me; for the correct moment to reveal itself. I would sit there for hours, yet the shadows never moved, no one else ever came up to gather water, and I never lost focus on the wall.
The mountain was lying in wait. I couldn’t tell you what for. Yet every so often, it shifted. Like its legs had gone sore from sitting for too long. Rocks tumbled down the cliff edges. Yet, the castle seemed undisturbed. It almost seemed like nothing ever happened in the castle. I can’t recall anyone ever coming in or out. No one even passed by the windows. Still, the mountain towered over the forests surrounding its base. And the castle sat still.
When I returned home, my wife never said anything about my absence. She just took the bucket from my hand and began making the bread for dinner. I can’t remember the last time we spoke for more than a moment; we used to talk for hours on end. Everything around me was dead, the color drained from every leaf, flower and twig, energy stolen from the children who used to play in the streets, love wiped from every moment.
The forests were dense. You would need at least a dozen men to go anywhere. No one had made paths through. Where was everyone? The forest was quiet. Too quiet. There were no birds singing. No insects buzzing. No wolves hunting. The trees held their breath. The mountain groaned. And the castle called my name.
I told my wife my dreams were calling for me to leave, and she slapped me across the cheek. No one leaves. She was right; no one ever leaves this village; until they die, every day just continues on the same as the last. People come and go, but the butcher is always a Wilson, only his first name changes. I wandered the streets in search of something. She told me to buy some eggs, yet I am not looking for eggs. I couldn’t really tell you what I was looking for; still, I knew that there was something that I was missing, something to be found.
After miles of trees there was a beach. I tried to imagine a color absent from the grains of sand. They were all accounted for. The waves moved without fanfare. Never encroaching higher upon the sand. Never depositing seaweed or shells. Buried in the sand was a bottle. In the bottle was a message. Come home. The paper was crinkled and rotting. If touched it would crumble. The multicolored sand begged for me. The forest cried. The mountain creaked. And the castle invited me in.
I found what was missing. That night, I packed a bag while my wife slept a few feet away; in sleep, she almost looked like I remembered her. Before everything fell apart, we were in love, before our little girl went to bed and never woke up again, before she could no longer look me in the eye—we had the same eyes—before the castle called. Everything seems farther now.
The water of the ocean was warm. It lapped at your feet. Begging you to enter. Take a swim. The wind howled across the expanse. It cried for your pain. It could feel the way your heart throbbed. It could sense the tears before they fell. It offered it all back. Your little girl would be four now. You can have her back. Just take a swim.
Here I stand. Staring at the crack in the wall. I can see the base of the mountain. I know that if I walk through, she will be waiting for me. The castle invited me to rule. The mountain waits. The forest needs to wake up. The beach misses the people. The ocean cries for my pain. The empire is my own. No longer alone. Everyone waits for me to return. I pull my satchel tight against my shoulder, and I step into the wall.
