Exodus of Identity Somewhere on a dirt path, between here and there, a lonely little cart trundled along. It was not a particularly conspicuous cart, but as it was the only thing to be seen between now and then for quite some time, it drew quite some attention. At least, it would have if there was anywhere there to see it. The point is, the cart was inconspicuous and unimporant. The cart was being pulled along by nothing in particular - it could have been a horse, it could have been a bull, it could have been nothing at all. It, like the cart, was inconspicuous. It must have been something, anyway, because the inconspicuous cart was clearly being supported and pulled by the creature. The point is, the cart was moving. How and why is heresay. Sitting in the cart was what could only be described as a man. Meaning, it was about six feet tall, dressed in clothing, had long locks of hair hanging from it's head, and possessed a predilection towards choosing exactly the opposite of what is best. The man was speaking mindless nothings to the meaningless nothings around him. It was an altogether fascinating conversation, but there's no real point writing it word for word. The point is, there was an average man having an average conversation about his life with the average meaningless nothings while he sat in an inconspicuous cart being pulled by what could be described as a large animal. In the cart was an odd assortment of various objects, and these were just about the only things in this empty landscape which seemed to be sure about their own identities. There were large bags filled with casual clothes - clothes in various shades of black, blue, and white. Sitting in another corner was a mangled, beat up old cane. It did not look as though it could support weight of any level. Lying across from the cane was an equally battered, mangled old shotgun. If the weapon were to discharge, then it would probably prove to be an efficient close-range shrapnel bomb. The man was coming from Here. People from Here looked at him oddly, wondering where his inconspicuous cart and it's could-be-animal could possibly be going. He responded simply, "I'm going There." He pointed in no general direction into the general blankness surrounding Here. Some people came forward, saying they had been There and there was nothing much worth seeing There. He was better off staying Here. The last thing the Man ever said was, he was going There. Here was getting too bland for him. So he set off There, without so much as a goodbye to anyone. He had been travelling for some time now; but the distance between Here and There has no real meaning. The man may as well have been travelling for a day. The point is, he was going There for no real reason other then what was Here was not good enough for him. And it looked as though he was nearly there. Meaning, he was There. --- I once posted my stories on this board about a year and a half back. Who I am (or, rather, who I was) is not really important. Some of you here may know me, many of you probably will not. I took a break, so I could formulate what I described at the time as "one really great story". Well, after a long amount of planning, I finally decided to come back. My story was not even started in terms of writing, but in terms of planning it was just about as picked to pieces as you can get in a story. I sat down to write, and found I couldn't bring myself to do it. That was a year ago now. I went through a few changes in both my personality and my private life, and now I have returned a much changed person. These changes seem most obvious in my writings - the above being example of what I can whip together in a short amount of time. For those of you who know me, it will be fun to work with you again. For those of you who don't know me, the pleasure is all mine. EDIT: This, by the way, is not that story. This is just my little way of reintroducing myself onto the board.