Erika Szántó

I was walking down the straight path he led me onto. He had laid the way out for me already. I could see the light at the end. I hastened my pace.

Suddenly, a wall of amethyst rose from the ground, forcing me to stop. There was a question written on the wall. “When was the camera invented?“ Hah! Easy, around 1816. What a weird question to ask. I could hear an ear-piercing cracking sound. It came from the wall. It broke in half, letting me go forward. A piece of it cut my cheek; the burning sensation of the wound reminded me that this was indeed reality.

I strode forward along the infinite pathway. Many other walls stood in my way, all of them falling apart after I answered the question carved on them. After a while, nearly all of my body parts had multiple gashes from their debris. The questions got harder too; it wasn’t so easy to answer them anymore. I hoped I could keep up my answer streak at least until I got to the end of this straight labyrinth of trivia.

I was limping and my breathing was shallow. I can’t go on for a lot longer like this. Yet another wall rose up. “Your grave is not here.” What? What is that supposed to mean? What should I answer? What is this? It’s not even a question!

Yes. It’s not here.

The wall didn’t crack. The amethyst started to shift in color and consistency. Molten crimson gashed down onto me. The ground tilted. No. It wants me to go back. It’s gonna kill me. I have to go on!

The molten substance burned me to bones and ashes. Or maybe the velocity of the fall killed me somehow. I won’t know anymore.