Map in hand he strode with great confidence. Never letting his eyes drift from the markings etched on parchment - equipped with all the answers: documentation of all terrain, fauna, and flora in the region, the man simply followed the trail laid before him. As he ventured beyond the barren desert, as depicted. And as he ventured beyond the ancient mountains, as depicted. And as he ventured beyond the frozen sea, as depicted. The man with the map came to an abrupt halt. Arrested by the sight of a blue wildflower hanging her head high underneath a stone bridge, a stubborn stone bridge that scarcely let any light slip through its crevices. And he stared at the blue wonder, the blue blemish, thorn in the thumb of reason. Undocumented.
His eyes darted between the map and the sight before him, for what seemed like an eternity; you could tell, for the frail flower's head began to sink. The man, torn between both worlds -
tore the flower instead.
And he strode, this time with exaggerated confidence
For the map remains correct.
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