[fun sketch] no cities left

This used to be a giant and prosperous country finely divided by the flows of rivers and climbs of mountains. My ancestors dwelled along the Labyrinth of Minotaur, or 'the Myth', a local dialect mastered by a city of less than a million people. I am a descendant of the Myth's blood and they bathed me in the Maid of Krynn. The gentle streams soothed a baby's first cry of life.

But there was no Myth, or it seems nobody remembers it anymore.

I was born Lance, at 21° 18′ 30" E and 40° 25′ 20" N. My fiance Sasha is to meet me at at 15° 35′ 50" E and 45° 11′ 15" N, 17:00 just before sunset. People stopped asking 'where's the place?' a long time ago, or 'where are you from?'. We live by coordinates to the nearest precision. Everything's restructured in a way that leaves no room for redundant descriptions. Still, we say the sunset is beautiful, or intoxicating in its grandeur and forgiveness. Nature, both mother and us, hasn't changed much in the core.

The stellar express is travelling at a speed of 5000 miles an hour. Maid of Krynn flashed by below my feet and disappeared as quickly as it came. It spans 5° North and makes a sharp turn to the South in which it continues another 2° East before hitting the valley. That was high school geography my teacher taught me. My great-grandfather said, the Maid was borne under the belly of Myth, sprang it open and ran wild like an abandoned child. After conquering the Mountain of Knosses she grew tired and tamed, and quietly returned to the labyrinth. I know its vein as if it runs in my own blood wailing for an ancient map that's now burnt to the ground.

What marked the territory was now erased and names were denounced. The great War of Autonomy, or so they recorded it in print broke out a hundred years ago when Sanderstone first claimed sovereignty. Cliffton followed. The two largest cities threatened to throw the country into hell. Death toll soared across borders where people shed gallons of blood to claim bits of land smaller than their fingernails. It's funny nobody has an accurate account how the craze ended. All I know is, after the pledge for cease-fire, we were again united as civil men and women, on a land where no cities should exist.

I was shaken out of my reverie as the express halted abruptly at the destination. I stepped out of the gateway to see Sasha jumping to her attention.

'Ranpasarrrr!' She called out in a jolly note. Around her people turned at the foreign sound.

'You don't have to roll your tongue so much you know. It gives me the creeps.' I managed to feign a scowl.

'Don't you - '

'Ranpasar,' I pecked her lightly on the cheek. She smiled and poked me in the ribs. We looked at each other as if to reassure, and slowly started to walk towards the terminal.

It's 15° 35′ 50" E, 45° 11′ 15" N here, or at least that's where we are headed, the midpoint between our birth coordinates. Two days later a wedding shall be held.

However my great-grandfather won't bear witness to the reunion. He didn't even live to see how well Sasha learnt the word.

Ranpasar, with or without the extra 'r's, is saying in Mythical tongue - My love.

***

O man, what a hasty lazy ending. - Jude
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