He stood at a break in the road.
The rocky, muddied path split from one to four, so that he stood in the middle of a crossroads with one stretching to the right, one to the left, and two more before and behind him. Above hung the sky, and the sun, and the clouds, and below spread the dirt and the soil and the dry dead leaves that whispered as they tumbled over the rocks in the wake of autumn’s chilling breath.
Four roads.
Four futures.
One past.
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