Chapter 11.

I resolved not to let myself get disillusioned and continued my journey. The dirt road became more diffuse and disappeared under roots and stones, as if I had reached the limit of human curiosity for territories this remote from their home of comfort.

My surroundings were slowly changing, the vegetation becoming denser, and the sounds of nature more pronounced. I crossed a forest, guided and reassured by the presence of the wall overlooking the highest crowns. It seemed that the trees, intimidated by the majestic mass of stone, dared not challenge its height. When night fell, I conveniently wandered out onto a glade, where I laid down my mattress and slept peacefully under the moon’s watchful eye.

I set off again the next day. As the hours passed, the sun slowly crept across the sky. When it was high, an excruciating heat sealed the air and swayed the horizon. Fatigue began to set in, satisfyingly healthy at first, but more and more wearisome as the kilometers stretched on. I ceased to observe the landscape as my mind focused on the pain from the blisters on my feet. My food reserves had run out and the wild berries I ate along the way had the opposite effect of emptying my bowels and robbing me of the last of my strength.

One day, I collapsed while walking and caught hold against the wall. In a burst of despair, I used up the last of my strength punching the wall I now loathed. I did not see dusk coming. My fists were bloody, and I was unable to unclench them. Hope was leaving me. I had always feared death. I dreaded its devious approach, yet too slow to surprise, enchaining the body and shrouding the mind in a black cloud of madness. I wasn’t ready to meet death in the face. I wanted to die suddenly, in a vital momentum that would tetanize my limbs in a final, eternal posthumous thrust. So I decided to walk to the bitter end, in desperate defiance of the wall. Determined of my martyrdom, I fell into a deep comforting sleep. In my dream, I could see the wall collapsing.

I awoke at dawn, clear-headed, facing the immense prairie, and a forgotten childlike joy filled my soul, a feeling of sacred peace and immaculate freedom. But then it all flashed back to me with the sensation of something huge, cold and evil behind my back. The wounds on my hands began to bleed again. I struggled to my feet and resumed my march, limping.

After a while I saw buildings ahead, the sight of which revived my spirits. I quickened my pace, but as I drew nearer, a vague feeling of dread came over me. Unsure of what I was seeing, I blinked and shook my head. When I reached the ancient ramparts of the village before me, my heart stopped beating for a moment. My legs turned to lead, I fell to my sore knees and tears streamed down my dust-covered face. This was my village, to which I had returned from the other side.

The end.

What if the story had taken a different turn? Go back to the previous chapters and choose the alternative option.