A Traveller In The Possible Worlds


It is time to turn away from this road. It is time to take the turning I would not normally take. All along this route, I searched for a place to stay. Looked for some new place I could call home. I have stood in the cities all across this and the other possible worlds, and yet none of them has ever felt like home to me.

Most people, of course, are trapped, here on this world or one of the other possible worlds. They do not know about these crossroads that lie far from any human habitation. These are places without name or even a fixed location. These places, known only as crossroads are where the possible worlds meet one another. There are roads that lead off away from this world, at an angle to reality. It is possible for a traveller, such as me, to take one of those roads that lead off into another possible world.

Some call them dimensions, some call them universes, but to me they are other worlds. I suppose what they are called doesn’t matter. The important fact is that they are there and it is possible to choose the road that can lead a traveller to a new world, to a world never known before.

I suppose I’ve always been a traveller. When I was young, my mother opened the possibility of these roads for my sister and me. She was the one that showed us there are far more worlds than the one we knew.

She had though us safe there in that small insignificant world. She had thought our father would not find us there. But one day we were rushed into our clothes. Our belongings, always packed and ready for a quick escape, were thrust into our hands. We were too young to understand back then. All we knew was that, despite her surface cheerfulness, talk of a big adventure, there was fear in our mother’s eyes. Her jolly voice cracked every now and then, into panic and anger.

Then we were running down the road, with our mother glancing over her shoulder. She knew something was coming, something that would rip her children from her hand. Shala dropped her favourite doll in the busy dust stirred up by our feet. But our mother just tightened her grip as Shala howled and pulled back pleading for her doll.

Then we were at the crossroads. Our mother paused for a moment to select a possible world. Then she dragged us through.

Shala was looking back, sobs choking her wailing, looking for a doll along a road that she could still see, but no longer existed. Meanwhile, I was looking forward, eager to go on deep into a new world I’d never seen before.

That moment I believe, made me into the constant traveller between the possible worlds I am to this day.


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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