He descends through a hillside of slender, shiny obsidian monuments that look like a graveyard terracing its way downward. On each monument he sees an inscription etched into the stone, some quite lengthy, others merely a single word. “DIGNITY” says one. “HOPE” says another.
Ahead he sees an area with countless markers bearing the chiseled word “DREAMS.” Each of these has a small subscript indicating a date. Under these are paragraph-length inscriptions, obituaries, outlining the various deaths of Chris’s dreams and aspirations. Some have dates going back to when he was a younger, more optimistic man.
He pauses at a few of these and unearths the sad memories long forgotten. Chris wanders through these markers and feels the misery of each of the losses, like still-born children he has never been able to see grow and become mature.
He staggers on. Raising his eyes, Chris can see that this memorial field is spread down the mountainside in every direction for miles. It reminds him of movies he has seen of European war cemeteries with their neat row after row of white crosses spreading to the horizon. There no longer seems to be any path, or maybe he has simply lost it in his confused windings through the markers.
As Chris stumbles downward, he sees that the markers have become something different. On their crystalline faces are moving pictures. Chris realizes that they portray lost opportunities to give, to serve, to love God, to love others. One after another, endless scenarios play out showing what Chris might have been and might have done. Scene after scene show the life Chris could have lived, the life, he bitterly realizes, he should have lived.
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