The Road

It lies before and behind, stretching into darkness and distance. Through all is the road, paved or otherwise, carved out of this beautiful barren wasteland. For those who walk it, there is no deviation from the path it shows us, because it is made as we walk it. Wherever we turn, there is the road. It runs away and away before our feet, guiding us even as we conjure it into bleak existence. The road is our path, and we are its creators, the architects of our respective destinies. Or something.