Timothy walked down a road, alone and uncertain where exactly he was going. Brilliant rays of sunlight crept like so many snaking vines through the dark and gloomy clouds that hovered like a sea in the sky. Trees grew on either side of the road. Great trees with massive, thick trunks and hulking, muscular branches with no leaves. In between each tree was a large rock, or rather, half a rock. They were all split in two neatly down the middle to reveal a sparkling display of purple stone inside. The sides of amethyst faced east, and Timothy walked west so that he saw the magnificent rocks before him.
Timothy was a fair young man. He was tall with wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders, but not past them. His skin was spotless and a light brown, like that of someone who spends much of their time in the sun. He had broad shoulders and dark brown eyes, much like the color of the trees around him. Looking into this man's eyes was like looking into a vast maze of black tunnels that never ended, with a hint of light dancing and teasing around every corner, only to disappear when close to it. A flicker of sarcasm hung about his face, from his slightly upturned eyebrows to his almost always smirking mouth.
The road itself was dirt. Plain and simple dirt with pebbles and rocks scattered here and there. There were no holes, no hills, and no cracks. The road was flat, unforgiving, and endless. It stretched on straight ahead as far as Timothy could see. The road had a voice too. A slight whisper that echoed with every step that Timothy took. If he stopped walking the road stopped talking, but Timothy could never stop.
On an endless journey to an unknown land Timothy was destined to walk until he reached his destination. The road told no lies, the road told no truths, the road told nothing at all, but it always talked. A whisper, and the sky was ever changing.
Lying in the middle of the road lay a fork.
And Timothy stopped walking.
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