Today’s story is another what3words inspired tale. I collect these codes when I go out. Some are places on my morning runs and others on my motorbike rides. I store them until they inspire a story.
Jonas looked at the map once more. The indices laid around him, different pages marked with dayglo post-it notes. Entries about shimmering fields and clustered predators underlined in shaky pencil.
The research had taken several years, each turn of the calendar drifting further and further from family and friends until he was alone in the basement room with his books and his maps. Only the walls witness to his raving.
Utopia was a place. All the indications were there. In the way the golden leaves fallen from still branches lined the pavements for him to step along, and the cracks in the tarmac spelling out ancient names for the place of joy.
Utopia was the wrong word. Utopia was a human phrase for a place of no conflict. The place Jonas searched was the negative of conflict, and after so much destruction in his life, he craved that absence more than anything. More than human touch, more than indulgence, more than food or water or health.
He drew a third line across the creased paper landscape before him and placed a finger on the point of intersection, tapped it three times and stood up.
Encased within his largest coat, Jonas walked through the crowds to the centre of the road. Closing his eyes he saw Utopia begin to manifest around him with glitter and glances, the fabric of the sky and the street fraying as it made contact with his determination.
The roars of the cars around him became the roars of waves crashing on the perfect beach, the city beyond the dunes shimmering in his dust clagged eyes. The crest of the hill was lined with people, arms stretched to welcome him, and with shaky legs he stepped into the roar of water.