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“Take me with you,” I cried. “Deliver me from this monotony that dulls the mind and kills the soul. Bring me the open road, where every day is different, and the living never wonder if they are still alive.” I must have looked a fright and spoken like a madman, for my request was met with baffled stares, and there was much shaking of heads until I produced the purse containing my savings. “I can pay my way; I shan’t be a burden.” “Climb in,” they said. “We’ve a long ride ahead of us.” I crawled into the supply cart, which was filled with wine and soft sheepskins, and there fell directly into a deep sleep, from which I did not awake until we had reached Metz. I am one of them now, a nomad, wandering the roads of life, free from the chains of routine that serve no other purpose than to bind the human spirit. I have never returned to the sleepy village of my birth, and, since I cannot face its ghosts, it’s probable I never shall. The years are long and the clocks are scarce, and a nomad I shall remain… for while I could not kill Time, I might just outrun him.

END

Page 20 | The Paragon Journal

Profile for The Paragon Press

The Paragon Journal - Issue Ten  

The Paragon Journal is an online literary journal that specializes in helping younger authors find their way in the literary world.

The Paragon Journal - Issue Ten  

The Paragon Journal is an online literary journal that specializes in helping younger authors find their way in the literary world.

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