The City of Possibilities
1. From the Outside
Approached from the North, be it in the piercing winter winds which sweep
across from the East, or in the swooning heat of a long stifling summer, the
city of Rubec presents a rounded, open and welcoming sight. Travellers on
the well-trodden highway visibly sigh at the sight of the smiling and ever
reliable city. Their thoughts turn to their dreams, in endless patterns,
reciprocated and nurtured by this city of possibilities. Rubec is, indeed, a
city of harboured desires and fantasies, each held separate in a perfect
balance of interweaving structures. Only here can travellers dreams
intercept each, embrace and depart each other, without destruction. And, on
these occasions, the city itself benefits as much as the experiences of the
travellers, as its many workers are called upon to perform the miracle of
erecting a new refuge, to the design of the travellers, who may never return,
to house and cradle their intermingling dreams, in a city whose outer bounds
never swell.
From the road every type of building may be viewed. Silhouetted castles
shadow fragile straw huts. Huge stilted mansions provide shelter for trees,
and support for houses, which hang as from window boxes. An elaborate
monorail system allows free travellers a space in which to transport their
dreams, as they chase the semi-remembered fantasies of an earlier visit. In
the East, pockmarked cliffs house embryonic thoughts alongside high-rise
recurrences, and, to the West, monsters dwell in suburban surrealism,
providing both comfort and illusion.
It is then, with a chilling certainty of amazement that the traveller ventures
to the city. In each aspect he recognises a fraction of a fantasy that was, or
is, or will be, he, and yet never does he seek a different path. Always, the
eyes and the smile of Rubec beckon the traveller onwards. Never does he
fear what may be revealed, because the understanding he sees in the face of
this city illuminates its purpose: Here is the one place where the traveller
may live or leave his dreams; enjoy or suffer in his fantasy, knowing that the
city is his servant, and will release him upon command.
Unlike many cities, Rubec never purports to be all things to all men. Rather,
it is a city that may be any thing to any man. A city of the subconscious. A
true city of possibilities; and yet, at the same time, an incomplete city,
constructed of fragments of lives, and never truly fulfilling to a traveller
seeking a place in which to rest.
To the South of the city lies a vast harbour. Along the quays and wharves
gigantic towers of warehouses stand, gaping at the merchants who sail
empty vessels into the port. Cranes of fantastic proportions strain to find the
cargoes for which the merchants eagerly seek. Brilliant black diamonds,
frightening and magnificent dragons, unwrapped adventures or a word of
comfort, all lay, stacked in orderly fashion, deep within the period walls of
the sympathetic storehouses.
Many a merchant will stay in the city for a while, his ship, itself a fantasy,
lying moored and content in a harbour of imagined weather. A tide of blue
or green washing or crashing against the tired harbour walls. In the cobbled
streets of the fishing village, nestled itself within the city walls, the
merchant may visit a tavern, bedecked with nets and lobsters, to discuss or
to live a dream. From time to time another travellers reverie may pass close
to his own, and all, unspeaking, will marvel at the mixture of paths and
promise of a myriad outcomes. A chance, then, for the merchant to decide
his next move: To select a new fantasy, and construct its dwelling, or to
abandon the scene, leaving the tavern frozen in its course, for all eternity, or
until the merchant once again seeks out what he considers his own city.
At the pier the merchant and his vessel are once more reunited, both now
laden with relief and desire: For the merchant a dream begun or comforted,
for his ship, expectations of a fruitful journey, and of fulfilment.
2. From the Inside
Rubec smiles with open warmth at its visitors, yet it is not a happy city. Its
residents are two-fold. There are those who dwell only in the imaginations
of travelers, lying inert for inordinate periods, in recumbency buildings,
formed from some now distant fantasy. These city dwellers often cross each
other’s paths, but recognition of each other’s features is rare, and they never
speak. The city’s true natives follow two occupations: There are those who
serve the merchants through telepathic communication, always providing a
new excitement or comfort. But their job brings no reward, and they find
themselves either robbed of their own possible futures, or weighed down by
the unwholesome goods of the merchants. In past times some of these
unrecognised warehousemen have lain down the tools of their service in
demand for recompense, only to find themselves replaced by youths with a
greater hunger to satisfy and console.
The remaining population of Rubec find their employment in construction,
and the city is a monument to their reading of the dreams of others. They
live, however, as mere observers of travellers’ fantasies, building shelters
and scenes to foreign designs; like ghosts, their contact with the dreams
they enable is immaterial. Unlike their neighbouring warehouse compatriots,
who daily find themselves drained of hope through contact, these
inhabitants find their despair through disassociation. Their only contact with
the city’s numerous visitors is through the scenes with which they are
playing, and their only reward from the city is the privilege of observation.
Each day these workers find themselves called upon to erect more pleasure
domes and encompass more desires, fears and fantasies, in a city with
stagnant borders. With every hour the city’s personal freedom is further
stifled by the erection of one more pagoda, one more castle supported by
clouds, one more Elizabethan manor house. Already there are quarters of
this city where possibilities have ceased. Dead quarters where, hemmed in
by frozen dreams, the workers form queues like waxworks in some horrific
museum. And yet, should a traveller stumble in his reverie upon such a
corner, its antique and picturesque beauty instantly astounds him,
wondering only how such a versatile city can exist in a landscape that is so
barren.
For the inhabitants of this soulless city, however, whose communication is
through moistened, melancholy eyes, its existence is apparent. If their eyes
bore the strength to influence they would tear down the facade of frontages,
exposing fragile shells of irrelevancies. For Rubec is a city of mirrors,
reflecting the desires of travellers into their own, expectant eyes. The city
provides what is expected of it, but only because it knows no other way.
Without the endless train of travellers, Rubec would cease to exist. The
mirrors would reflect only doubts and fears, and the weary traveller could
not call a halt to his wanderings.
Rubec, the city of possibilities. Rubec, the city of self-justification. Rubec,
the city of pretence and falsehood. An image of a city created in the
imaginations of so many travellers as to cause its very existence. On the
plains, at the foothills of the mountains, nestled on the coast: A city with no
intrinsic value. A city dependent on the whims of strangers, pausing for
relief. Strangers who can illuminate or blacken the city as they would a
blank page. Strangers, whose relationship with the city is one of intimate
dissociation. Rubec: a stillborn city, a city of visitors. A city of possibilities.
Food for thought here. It felt like astral travel, souls converging in a plain. Dreams realised, possibilities and empty purpose. Much to think on. I like your scope in these stories, Chris. Adventures into other realms.x
I’m really thrilled that you have enjoyed what you have read – to have one person’s reaction makes writing worthwhile, so I really appreciate your comments! I’m glad that this made you think, I personally like to work a bit when I read, and would like to think that my writing has the same effect.
I love your work, its inspiring!
Thank you so much, that is most gratifying to here. I am delighted that you have enjoyed what you have read and I appreciate your feedback.