I woke up in a cage again. The floor was slimy to the touch, and an unknown liquid ran in the cracks of it. The bars were covered in grime.

The door was open.

Slowly, dreadfully, I climbed out. The road outside was filled with thorns.

I looked into the distance and saw naught but a road into the darkness.

Legend said that anyone who walked this thistle road to its end would find happiness. I knew better. Happiness was something you find yourself. You make happiness. The end of this road was not happiness.

The end of the road was a content death.

The name of this thistle road was 'Hope'.

The cage shook and it was all I could do to step forward, ramshackle and destitute, with naught but a birthday suit.

I heard the Legend from the Old Man who lived opposite me. Like me, he too was trapped in a cage, but it was a cage of his own making. He lived and breathed on cigar smoke.

When he smiled, his teeth could not be seen. When he laughed, it was braying and chafing to the ears. When he died... he died contently.

I wished I could die like him.

I stepped on the thistle road.

When you begin, it won't feel painful at all. Enjoy your first few steps. Savor it.

The first few steps were almost over before I caught myself. I tried my best to slow down.

I was already over those 'first few steps' with my next foot down.

When you walk, you may see a river. You may think that it would be easier to walk in that river. Don't.

The river seemed clear, but as I looked into it, a shadow moved. I paused, but the thistle road kept going. I moved despite myself.

The surface of the water rippled. A man looked at me and tried to speak, tried to get out. But his neck had already developed gills, and he was drowning in the air. He stared at me with absolute helplessness as he struggled to escape from an environment he had already adapted to.

He took a step on the thistle road. And another.

His gills shrank, but it was too late. He was already returning to the water filled with impurity.

I wanted to say goodbye, but I had to continue on my thistle road.

The road used to be called 'Life', you know. He coughed and hacked. But we inmates felt that that was a stupid name. Everyone knows what's at the end of Life. But Hope... He smiled. I could not tell if the smile reached his eyes, but his lips were pale and pressed together. Hope is what keeps us going. The thistles are Life. The road is Hope. The End is something we all look forward to. Whether that is the End of Life or the End of Hope, that is up to whoever is walking that thistle road.

Sometimes, I enjoyed walking on the thistles. Other times, I hated it. The latter felt more constantly there. Sometimes, , while the road did not diverge, the thistles branched off. My feet had already adapted to the thistles, so I could only follow the thistles.

All but once, I could not see where the thistle branches I did not take led to. The darkness was too deep.

The one time I did, I thought I had reached the end of the thistle road. I wanted to step off, but then, someone else did it first, and he fell.

It was a pit.

It was a fucking pit, filled with black.

I cried.

I cried because that meant I had to turn back.

I really wanted to jump too. The thistles hurt. They really really hurt. I may have adapted to the pain, but every now and then, it was too much. Because there was no break in between the thistles. It kept going.

The idea of having to turn and go all the way back, and take another thistle branch, it was absolutely agonizing.

I stared at the abyss for a long while.

I took a step forward-

When I came to, my eyes were still wet. My back hurt. I stood.

My pant leg had snagged on a thistle, and at that moment of infinity,

I saw the view from halfway down.

I had to turn back. Even if it hurt, I had to turn back. So I turned back and took another thistle branch.

Now.

The thistle road keeps going, and I'm exhausted.

There is no end to the darkness.

I'm exhausted, but I'm going to keep going on this thistle road.

I have to.

I don't know what keeps me going, but I have to.

It's devolved into an obsession.

I need to see the end of the thistle road.

The end is so far away. I cannot see the end.

I don't know if that's for the better or for worse.

I will keep going.

Somehow, we'll figure out how to go. There's nothing we can't do. There's nothing we can't do...

Right?