Short story assignment

SHI Tianlun

53545996

The Traveler: An Unexpected Journey

There are always leaflets sent on the crowded walking

street of Mong Kok. If you have nothing occupying your

hands, hiding your hands in Jeans pockets is the best way

to refuse those endless rubbishing presswork. Look, I am

a civilized citizen so I will not waste my costly time

kicking your ass or dropping Jesus’ advertisement in the

trash can to the missionary’s beard. I know the word

“civilized” well. Today it means the treatment with

professional poker face and decent indifference to the

strangers around you in this lovely modern society. All

these wise summaries above are my everyday thought during

years of pale life. Ah, I feel that I am a brilliant

philosopher. My wisdom is the bastard of madness. “People

can be philosophers if they know how to be stingy with

love and think with hate.” I am proud of my axiom.

I was stepping toward until I noticed that man standing

around the corner. He was absolutely an eye-catching guy.

A scrawny man with pale skin, over six feet in height,

dressed himself in some kind of old-fashioned pitch-dark

formal suiting with a funny tile hat. His existence made

the modern merchandise street looked so weird and

unnatural, but it seemed that nobody on the street paid

any attention to this man. My curiosity drove me to move

towards that guy. As I walk closer, I found it

disappointedly that he was another guy sending something

like leaflets. Maybe he was just dressed up to be

attractive so that they could capture some foolish

curious fish like me, I thought. Just when I intended to

leave, he turned to look at me. He stared at me for a

while, then smiled to me, like saying “ah, you’re here.”

It was not a comfortable experience to see the smile in

his hairless, I mean neither beard nor brows, pale face.

I saw him swinging a copy of the presswork in his hand

waiting for me to take that as if he knew I would do so.

He was right. I drove by curiosity again. I took the

leaflet, felt kinda shame for being led by the nose, so I

speeded away. The leaflet was an ad of a travel agency.

Bali Island, Maldives, Malaysia-Thai…really nothing

special, except the MTR single journey ticket attached on

it. This ticket seemed like an old and stopped issuing

one with a subway map on its back, but weird enough, the

short route marked as “Truth Line” in the map was

inexistent among the real MTR lines. “Well, I am

tricked…” I mumbled, “By this meaningless ad idea.”

I swear that I did tried my best to restrain myself from

being led by curious again, but I still took out that

strange ticket rather than my Octopus card in the MTR

station, and shocked that the gate opened unexpectedly. I

should have taken the train home then forget these

oddities, but I could not help seeking for the entrance

that was lead to an inexistent metro station and I found

it. The entrance was a staircase at the end of

underground platform, it looked like any other staircase

in the station except that nobody accessed it. Nobody

accessed it, except me.

“Glad to see you, dear traveler…Mr. Durante, right? I am

Maro, your guide during our Truth journey. You may have

tons of questions now, but please hold your horse and

take a seat first. The train is about to run.” Said the

man in front of me, the same man I met earlier on the

street. He still wearing that weird suit, cap to me

smiling like a clean-shaven gentlemen in the 18th century.

So, I am here, sitting in a moving empty train, facing

with a suspicious odd man called Maro, not knowing what

happened to me or where we are going. But my damned

curiosity controls my brain again, it fills my thought

with imagination of this weird tour rather than sense of

crisis.

“Well, Mr. Maro,” I kneading my temples and ask, “It

seems that you know whom I am. All these oddities were

set for me by design, right? I think I need some

explanation for this so called ‘journey’.”

“I apologize for such a sudden arrangement. It may beyond

your understanding, but I promise that it will not screw

up our journey. Actually I got the command from my

superior saying that you, Alighieri Durante, have a

request for this journey. And I was appointed to be in

charge of the service this time. So I sent you the

invitation today then you come.” Maro replies in a cozy

tone like talking about ordinary things, ignoring my

confusion.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t send any

application to any travel agency or any other agency for

a journey, and I don’t even know who your ‘superior’ is

at all. Why me? What is the journey about? ”

“My superior has many names in human society. Those

religionists call it YHWH, God, Satan, Devil, Allah,

Buddha, Brahma etc.; those scientists and scholars call

it law of universe; ordinary beings call it time or fate.

I am sorry I am not able to define my superior with human

languages, but I believe that you can have a rough

realization about it because you are a ‘philosophy’,

aren’t you? Thought and wisdom are your capital, sarcasm

and cynic are your force. According to the instruction,

you always tried to explore the truth and essence of love

in your life though the conclusion you drew was horrible.

At least you like thinking, so my superior thought a

thinker deserve more virtues and wisdom of love. That’s

what I mean about ‘you have a request for this journey’.

You were curious, that’s a virtue, so you opened the gate

with the ticket of ‘Truth Line’ then showed up here

without avoiding occult things.”

“Bravo! Mr. Clown, so you mean that I am the

extraordinary chosen one cared by the omniscient God, or

I can also call him dear Satan as you mentioned, right?

Are you the archangel bringing the enlightenment to me?

Shall I kneel and express my gratitude for his favor?

What on earth do you want from me?” Maro’s theories are

so ridiculous to me that I cannot help regarding him as a

madman, a heresy fanatic or something like that.

“I am not here for arguing, dear traveler. I am just your

tour guide for this journey. I don’t care about what you

can get from it, that’s not my business. All you need to

do is enjoying your thought and journey freely. Maybe you

could understand more about...your life, perhaps, after

our service. Alright, we arrive our destination now.

Please mind the gap when getting off. This way.” It seems

that Maro doesn’t mind my satirical provocation at all. I

can feel that the train is slowing down.

The side doors are opened. Maro’s unbelievable words

still striking my head, but I can’t help it. Well, Mr.

God said this is a sightseeing journey, then let me see

what the God-sent landscape look likes. I manage to calm

myself down and go after Maro. I soon find that I am

really involved in an amazing supernatural today. The

train is stopping on a vast plain with out-door railway.

I confirm that this is not supposed to happen in reality,

but I can do nothing but accept and see.

A giant round sphere factory workshop appear at present,

it occupies the plain like an enlarged soccer ball on the

playground. The outer wall was painted white entirely

with some uneven decorations scattered on it. I identify

it as a factory because I notice a towering white chimney

standing behind the plant, exhausting some mottled gas to

the upper air. I approach the wall of the construction,

finding that those uneven decorations are withered roses.

“A strange white rounded workshop decorated with roses?”

“Exactly, this one is like factory, but the roses are not

the decorations, they are the signatures of the labors.

Welcome to visit the Amor’s workshop, dear traveler. Come

in this way.”

Maro leads me into the plant. There is no machine roaring

inside the factory as my expectation, but I see a massive

number of labors indeed. These people are working in

silence, sculpting something with varieties of materials

accumulated around. Their white uniforms are dyed with

the pigments while coloring their projects. I can

identify that they are sculpting something really

charming, such as the figures of perfect beauties or

excellent heroes. I have seen some labor-intensive

factories before; the workers inside were dull and numb

with their repetitive work, but all these labors here

working with spark flickering in their eyes.

“They are not ‘labors’, they must be artists!” I cheer at

Maro.

“Interesting. Why do you think so?”

“I see that they are not just producing something but

create some artistic works; I see the flame of love

burning in their spirit; I knew the sculptures are the

image of lover to these sculptors. They work with

passion! Isn’t it enough for being artists? Our ‘Truth

Journey’ is actually about the essence of art, am I

right, my dear tour guide?”

“Brilliant speech, Mr. Durante. Your praise make it

awkward for me to tell you the cruel truth.” My tour

guide shrugs, “Unfortunately, they ARE labors. All of

these workers were spoony lovers when they were alive.

Their worlds were filled with the imaginations of their

dream lovers since they fell in love. Regrettably, most

of them actually fell in love with the fantastic illusion

in his or her mind. They are just continuing their

fantasy creation in this world after death, attaching

those popular materials and virtues onto the figures. You

can call them ‘the artists under the command of Amor’ if

you like. But I’d like to call them ‘the slaves chained

by love’. As you know, few people can accurately sculpt

their lover’s appearance, whatever they are. ”

“So they are merely making some visional and unpractical

illusions? Is this place nothing but a rubbishy factory

of insignificance? ”

“Not that bad. Some of them might lucky enough or spoony

enough so that they are able to finish their perfect

sculptures eventually. Although these ‘perfect’ creations

are bound to be illusory, they are the vital products

from this factory. These products are delivered to the

human world then sold to more amorous fools as a seed of

their affaires; as for Amor, he earns lover’s passion as

the profit, and gain more potential labors for his

factory in the meantime. You see, Amor, the God of Love,

is not an artist. He is absolutely a merchant.”

“Well done, Maro,” I feel fatigued, “You really show me a

bloody truth in this journey. Thanks to your service, I

learned more cynical theories. Is that what your superior

really want? Praise the lord!”

“Be patient, traveler. The true essence is always buried

behind your eyelids. Amor doesn’t earn the virtues from

his business, nor does he produce them. Then where did

all those materials for sculptures come from?” He picks

up a piece of material called “Innocence”.

“Hum. Let me guess. What is that chimney used for?” I

find Maro is a practiced mentor.

“You are a practiced student, Alighieri.” Maro smiling

with satisfaction, “Disloyal lovers’ spirit are sent to

the smelter after death, their virtues become new

materials after purification; the vices are discarded. Do

you remember the labors wearing white uniforms? They are

dyed into the color of virtue they chose during the

producing process. They will reborn after finish the

sculptures. By then, the human world will receive

innocent babies with pure virtue in spirit.”

“Purification and renewal. I see the significance of

Amor’s factory. The love is not as charming as people’s

imagination, and it is not as cruel as a trap I saw.” I

make my “wise summary” with a Sigh.

“You seem enjoyable with the journey, Traveler. But

please leave your reflection on the way and stay close.

The train is about to leave. Our next station is the

Library of Fate. You will like it.”

This time I get on without hesitation.