The city, the Scientist says, is built on an enormous salt lake, and for three months every year, during the rains, the entire plain would be converted into a mirror; the town and it’s people reflected action for action, point for point.
They continue towards the town center, he in silence, and the Scientist with his explanations; indicating the fluted columns which hold the buildings above the lake, the iridescent mother of pearl tiles, the deep and narrow canals, and see how the entire city is designed to reflect upon itself during those three short months. All were identified in the tired, cynical manner of a man who is revisiting a place so that its wonders no longer beguile him.
It was because this was his first time here, that he did not realize the city’s secret until he glances down at the Scientist’s feet: although the images in the lake may mirror them, action for action, point for point, a mirror is never truly of equivalent value of that which it reproduces.
The Scientist’s mute doppelganger was not speaking of cities, or fluted columns or iridescent tiles, instead what he is saying is this; I will take you to a thousand different lands, wonders beyond wonders, forever if you wish it, only do not go back there, to that half life that is life but not living, not just for yourself but selfishly for me, for I will be lost and lonely without you.
It is only then he realizes that they themselves are mirrors, distorted reenactments on clouded glass.
The city, of course is the one Marco Polo calls Valdrada.
Sorry I haven’t been around as much of late/late with replies but I’ve been mulling over numerous life changing decisions, one which involves a total change of career, and perhaps a move halfway across the world. I talked to my folks about it, and they actually support my push to go into the arts.
Also I am not really a pretentious shithead, not usually.