I trudged. Trudged down the track. Trudged down the road. The road to my destiny. jaguenhva7ca What was my destiny? Did my destiny exist? jhalfkhavbncjauidsuf It wasn't really important. All that was important was the track. Trudging. That was what I had to do.
My feet took me where they took me. I passed the fields where the people broke their backs in the denseness. I passed the mountains where the peaks pierced the floating duvet. I passed the beggars uiafasgdjianvuaguasjsjdijiddjg hakdjfhgudnshahduaidnnjsdues clawing out for morsels. It all bypassed my mind. In my head at the front, out the other side as the things faded into the mists behind my steps. hujkjkkjajhfkskjf
And umpteen times, these words I said, "This path is not going anywhere, is it?" So why did I continue down that path? It was the only option, because if I stopped. If I stopped to jjjkakkfmnnajfr help the field workers, if I stopped to flatten the peak points, if I stopped to hhahfgahbfcyeyhshdjagagdh give my flask to a beggar, I would not be able to continue down my path. Time would stand still, because I am Time, and if Time stops, huasufhhcnagaeud everything stops. I must walk the steps of Time, the steps of Time's destiny, because they are monotonous and everlasting, and that is Time's job. hafhhakjjhfgneyugsajjd
And so Time goes on, as this story goes on, never reaching any place where it can stop and rest and relax, never reaching any point of finish, never reaching any point of meaning or conclusion. Time walks on.