A road that wasn’t there
When Mara opened her eyes, the river was flowing uphill.
That was the first thing she wrote in the margin. Not that she had died beneath a collapsing train station. Not that the sky held two moons, one neatly cracked down the middle. A cartographer began with what could be measured.
The river climbed the valley in patient silver folds. Beside it, a road ended halfway through a field of blue grass. There was no rubble, no turning, no bridge. It simply stopped.
“You’re staring at the old road,” said a boy behind her.
Mara closed the notebook. It had come with her. The last page still carried the shopping list she had written that morning, in a life where rivers knew their place.
“Where did it go?”
He lifted an enormous iron key from his coat. “Same place as the people who forgot it.”
Across the valley, a bell rang. Each stroke erased a little more of the road.
Mara opened her notebook again. This time, she drew quickly.