Roads

Roads // Mainstay

2:51

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What you need now is an explosion.

You stand, a living cliché, at a crossroads, a fork in the depths of the woods. If you knew at one point in this narrative which way to go, you've forgotten it now. You set out on this journey too long ago; the memories of your ambition aren't fresh anymore. You wish for the sixtieth time that this was a movie, that you could spin a knife or listen hard for the sounds of war.

What you need now is a sage old man.

You rub your eyes. Did you see any clues on your way here? Did someone drop a passing comment? Was there a symbolic gesture to the left or right by an important character? You firmly believe in symbolism, even if superstition is a little too illogical for you.

What you need now is a prologue.

You can't recall if you had any key run-ins with a parent or sibling or long-lost friend mysteriously returned to your home town. That feels too far-fetched for you. Your writer's sensibilities make you doubt that very much. You scratch the underside of your chin. The loneliness of the forest crowds in around you.

What you need now is a love interest.

It dawns on you: you're writing the story. This is your spec script, your pilot. Or maybe it's your eighth episode. You can't rely on someone else's convention and cliché to get you out of this.

What you need now is a decision.