We Keep Walking

We spot a road signposted ‘To the Future’ and start walking. For the first few miles the road looks the same as the one we’ve just left. It’s a busy urban road lined with office blocks, glass-fronted flats, shops, restaurants and bars. Cars whiz along it in a hurry to get somewhere. The pavement is crowded with people shouting and bumping into one other. The road smells of money – ten, twenty and fifty pound notes fall from the sky and are snatched by reaching hands. The road sounds like a speeded up record on continuous play. Suddenly a church appears and the air is filled with confetti-shaped promises in every colour of the rainbow. After the church the road turns a sharp right. Identical suburban houses line either side of a pine-scented avenue. As we walk a large white bird swoops down, narrowly missing our heads. The bird deposits a basket on one of the doorsteps. As we pass the basket we hear a baby scream. The screams pursue us for the next five miles. As we continue walking the houses become bigger and the screams start to fade. For a while there is silence. The air is warm and scented with freshly baked bread. Gradually the air becomes thicker. Stickier. Slowing us down. A fog starts to form and it’s hard to see where we’re going. We encounter fewer and fewer people along the way and soon realise we’re the only ones still walking, although we can hear footsteps behind us. We pass a hospital and peer through the window, but it’s dark inside and we can’t see in. Not far from the hospital is another church - this time the air is cold and filled with tear-shaped memories. The road is very bright now. Empty. We keep walking.