I have been going to a few writing groups. One of them had an exercise where each person drew a random card from a deck of oracle cards and wrote based on the card, utilizing the shared list of random words people came up with. My card was “Path.” Here is the very short fiction I wrote with some heavy edits. The random words are in bold.
The path was disappointing. He grew up believing he would become a radical who creates new paths and destinations. Before he got too far, villagers called him a blasphemer and drove him out of the village. Eventually, he found himself in a city where nobody had heard of him. The city had too many people and too many names for anyone to remember. A few looked into his past and tried to warn others, only to be laughed at. The saying went, “Everybody in this city is a secret revolutionary, even those, especially those, who serve tea.” He was baking bread, so he could disagree just a little.
If his oracle had told him he would be baking bread in a large city, he would have demanded that the oracle give him his money back. But the oracle told him, “You will find yourself in a much bigger place”. It was neither satisfying nor disappointing.
As he immersed himself into the unnamed rhythms and places of the city, he met others, who were also disappointed with their paths. The most disappointed ones had gone insane, constantly talking about how others are fools who do not see their greatness.
“Soon,” they would say. “Very soon. My greatness will be revealed, and the whole world will turn upside down to place me at the very top where I am supposed to be.”
They would return to their workplaces and homes, burying their visions under paper forms and sweet pies filled with berries and chestnuts. Some of them would come to his shop, give him quick knowing nods, and buy loaves of black bread for their families. As he handed them the bags of bread, they would whisper, “It will happen soon.”
He looked at them for a moment without speaking. My path is boring but steady. I will stay on it or build a new one from my sweat after a day of toiling. Do not pull me onto your insane paths that came out of your sweaty dreams on beds of feathers.
“I hope your day goes well,” he said with a smile.