The Endless

I found something that day in the deep dark wood; a herald of sorts. It flew around me smooth and knife-like, cutting through the misty morning air without sound, from between the thick line of trees and brush. My eyes bulged and my feet froze as I first beheld it, like a priest spilling sacramental wine. It came to rest on an old tree branch, and the seconds seemed to stretch into days as we stood there, watching each other–before the silence shattered.

“Are you lost, human?” The crimson owl spoke. The shock buckled my legs as I fell backwards to the ground, bewildered. The owl cocked its head ever so slightly, before it swooped from the branch and landed on the mossy forest floor in front of me. “Do you know where you are? Are you lost?” It continued.

“N-no,” I sputtered. “I was just—I wanted to clear my head…” The owl began hopping closer and closer.

“Do you know where you’re going?” My eyes were fixed on the bird's mouth as it spoke.

“I–yes. I do, but—” Before I could react, the owl leapt onto my chest in a flash of scarlet. Afraid to move or speak, I held my breath as it leaned in close to whisper something in my ear. Its words were cold and crisp like wet frost on dead grass, and though it spoke just above the hush of the leaves, its words were deafening.

“The Endless will see you now.” I stared with pale horror as its dry beak pecked my cheek, before it turned to leave the same way it came. “All hail The Endless”, it echoed before gliding back into the line of trees.

“Wait!” My voice cracked. I got up after it and took a few steps, but paused. I realized should I choose to proceed, I might not be able to find my way back. Looking behind, I could just barely make out the rugged forest path home, to safety and comfort. But before me stretched a winding trail of mushrooms further into the trees, towards the crimson owl and ‘The Endless’.

Slowly and unsurely, I began my way following the owl’s trail deeper into the dense wood. High above me, restless wings fluttered in the fog.

I walked for hours on that trail. Through crooked thorns and rocky cliffs; past long shadows and blurry figures moving just outside my periphery. Despite my growing doubts the trail would ever cease, the patches of mushrooms finally came to an end at the stalagmite gate of a quiet grotto. Stepping inside, I noticed the crimson owl waiting at the bank of a large pond, as still and clear as a mirror. And from behind it, emerged from the shadows the daunting figure of The Endless. Their golden eyes pierced mine softly, as a predator sinks its teeth into prey, and I found my heart stopped suddenly as though in accordance. The wings on their head twitched curiously as they began to speak.

“Be not afraid, my dear.” Their voice was the sound of thunder, of crumbling marble and fiery steel. I could hear their tone reverberate throughout my body, in my sinuses and up my spine. My heart it seemed, remained at a pause.

“Are you the Devil?,” I managed to croak.

The Endless chuckled quietly, “In a sense, but not in the way you think.”

I stared at the olympian figure as they began walking along the edge of the water. Behind them trailed patches of mushrooms and fungi, sprouting with each footstep. The crimson owl looked on from the shadows.

“Do you know why I’ve invited you here?,” The Endless spoke cool and calmly, like a master patiently quizzing their pupil. I slowly shook my head no, afraid to break their gaze. “You’re here because amidst a world of possibilities, you chose to seek me out. You chose to find me.” My brow furrowed.

“But I never knew I was looking for you,” I said, confused.

The Endless blinked, “And yet, you found me all the same…” Their voice brought goosebumps to the surface of my skin. “...and as a reward, I gift to you the answer to any question your heart and mind desire,” their eyes flashed momentarily, “so choose wisely.”

The following silence was long, and calculated. The Endless watched me with intense curiosity as I stared at the stalagmites, piecing together my thoughts. The owl clicked its beak. Sighing heavily, I prepared to break the fragile silence once more.

“What is the purpose of life?” I finally asked The Endless. “Do our short lives really hold any purpose or meaning?” The many eyes of The Endless shone like sparks as the chamber returned to quietude.The owl was still. As The Endless began to speak, the hair on my arms stood straight with static.

“It’s a noble fallacy of humanity, that you often overthink to your own detriment. You seek to find purpose and cause everywhere you can, in fear that without it, life simply isn’t worth living–as if life is all that gives purpose. But look here…” The Endless extended their arm outwards to the owl. Its feathers began to lose their color and fall out, as patches of skin wrinkled with decay. It’s molding body became sunken and caved, leaving a dried corpse and a putrid stench where the owl once stood. However, as I watched in horror I could see clearly–plants, fungi, and mushrooms sprouting to the air as they ate away at the owl. The Endless continued, “Watch as life blooms in death just as death once did from life. A constant cycle from one state of matter to the next,…” Turning their hand, I watched as The Endless restored the corpse back to the lively bird, “...and back again.” The crimson owl glared at The Endless as they spoke. “This cycle is not necessarily some function of grand design or cosmic order–it happens simply because it can. That does not mean it is meaningless, but rather subjective; an event from which infinite meaning may be derived. To limit all life and death to a singular purpose or plan is a gross devaluation of universal potential.” The Endless looked at me nostalgically, almost lovingly. “You must remember my dear: in a void of endless potential and time, all that may happen, eventually will. But that doesn’t mean everything is without purpose. Your existence is a part of everything, and existence by nature, implies purpose.” I looked from The Endless to the crimson owl.

“So then…that’s it? The purpose of everything is just a matter of…possibility? Of what can or cannot happen?” The Endless’s wings twitched again.

“Does that bother you?”

I looked to the ground.

“I guess not I just–I expected a different answer. I don't really know where to go from here.” The Endless smiled.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. You’ve got all the time in the world.” Rather suddenly, I felt my eyelids growing heavier. My head drooped, and as I stepped forward the whole grotto became a blurred fresco of blues, greys, golds and reds. Falling to the ground, I could just barely hear the voice of The Endless, whispering to me, “But try not to sleep for too long, my dear.” As the grotto faded to a deep black, the crimson owl screeched in solidarity.

And that was it. I awoke hours later in the field outside the forest, beside the pathway home. That night I was met with strange dreams, of golden eyes, flowering mycelium, and barn owls with red feathers. And somewhere high above me, restless wings fluttered in the fog.

“...Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

-Robert Frost