Dirt on a road or a road made of dirt. This is the new question of the week. I seek an answer to pass the time. And to measure it. Twelve questions so far. The thirteenth question is asked, and so the thirteenth week begins. Focusing on the walkway on which I tread in sandals poorly crafted from an unidentified plant is the way I plan to maintain the delicate balance of distracting myself from reality and not losing sight of it. Is this road made entirely out of dirt? Or is the dirt merely a place-holder, protecting the actual road underneath from feet that will never willingly be set upon it? Several times already, I am tempted to prod the road, see how far down the dirt is piled in order to determine a conclusion. That will be a task for the last day of the thirteenth week, however. I am having trouble waiting to find the answer. This will be a fun week.
My footsteps seem to be echoing. In between each step of mine, I hear another, the pulse steadily growing louder. Too busy trying to figure out what the road is made of, I don’t notice the merchant until I walk head first into his shoulder. I stop walking. This will definitely be a fun week.
Equally shocked, the both of us stand in what would be complete silence if not for the wind making various dangling small metal objects on his cart collide. After an immeasurable amount of time, he speaks.
“Who are you? Why are you traveling this barren road?”
I am Alexi, traveling this barren road because my village was set aflame by an opposing civilization, a catastrophe of which I am the only survivor. I do not tell him any of this. Rather, I continue to stand without saying a word.
“You look horrible,” he says, “but I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
That was understandable and expected, as he, too, looked horrible.
He takes a step, moving to get around me, then hesitates.
“Actually, I do have something here...” He trails off, rummaging through his cart. “Ah, here. These will help your clothes hold together in this wind for the rest of your journey. I wasn’t expecting to sell them anyway, so consider them a gift.”
The hand at the end of his outstretched arm holds a small wooden box containing assorted buttons, a needle, and a spool of black thread.
Having not eaten anything in the past few days, it takes a while to process what the man said. He is already about twenty meters down the road by the time I manage a “Thank you.”
Taking the merchant’s words to heart, I sit down on the dirt road that I’m not sure is made of dirt and select one of the smaller buttons, a blue one with a white design on the rim. For the first time, I notice several tears in my shirt. I opt to start with the one on my left sleeve. In an attempt to sew the button onto my shirt, I accidentally pierce my skin. The worst part, however, is that I am too weak to notice, and I end up sewing the button into my skin.
A dull pain seeps into my arm from the puncture wound. Pain transforms into a tingling sensation. It starts to tickle. I laugh. Then I levitate. Soon, I am five feet above the questionably dirt road. The severity of the situation is realized, and I scramble to get back on solid ground. During the scramble, the button sewn into my left arm gets caught on something and rips off. I fall back down.
Once safely restricted by gravity, I ponder what exactly just happened. The only plausible explanation I can come up with is that the buttons I obtained from the merchant inhabit a sort of magic, granting a unique ability to whoever wears them. To test this theory, I sew the button to my shirt again, though this time making sure to only sew it to my shirt.
I don’t levitate.
Maybe it only works if the button is sewn directly into the skin?
I test my new theory by sewing the button directly into my skin, and within the span of a few seconds, I begin to float.
I’m ecstatic, wanting more than anything to share my find, spreading magic throughout the world. Using my newfound ability, I am able to easily and swiftly fly to the nearest town in a few minutes, covering a distance that would have taken at least five more weeks to travel on foot.
Once in the inner portion of the town, I am able to walk up and down streets, searching for anyone who looks particularly sad. Once the target is acquired, I make them happy by sewing a button into their skin, giving them a unique magical ability.
Something isn’t right. The frowns of the sad aren’t turning upside down. The people I encounter aren’t becoming happy. No, their frowns are only getting larger. Sadness turns to anger instead of joy. I don’t understand.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get away from me!”
“Ow! What is wrong with you?!”
“Go away!!!”
Why is this happening? Why are they all so upset? I only wanted to help.