Cerigo Street

A Utopian society hidden within society itself becomes revealed to a lonely protagonist whose goal is to simply return home. This, however, proves difficult.


1. A Peculiar Occurrence on a Familiar Street

My feet carry me on a path of its own, winding through unfamiliar yards and running down unfamiliar streets. I am not far from home, but I can only tell from the amount of time I had been wandering. I wish I could go further, but my head coerces my feet into stopping, as I know that if I do continue on, I would have to leave the life I built in the past. This, however, did not sound so unappealing. I take deep prolonged breaths, inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with the wind. I watch as my breath thickens in the cool air. With my hands resting on my sides, I spin and survey my surrounding. I attempt to pick out any familiar aspects of the street I stand in the middle of, but there is nothing but a similar structure to the houses. Now, after looking at what is around me, I force myself to look up. I am afraid at where I will find the position of the sun, as I am to be home at a certain time. It is quickly approaching its rest.

I now position myself in the direction that I believe will lead me back to my house, and begin to run. My feet become weights that my legs are unable to support, and my sides are tightening under pressure of my lungs. I exhale twice, and then inhale once, for every three steps. This, I find, temporarily soothes the pain that is pestering at my sides. Using my inner monologue as a motivator, I push on. As I pass the corner on to the next street, I made note of the name the street sign held. Cerigo Street. Next time, I decide, I would run further.

I ran for some two miles before accepting that I had traveled in the wrong direction at some point in my journey, although it would be impossible and time consuming to reveal which part I messed up. I stop myself again, wondering if I should continue or try a separate route. I conclude that neither of these solutions guarantee my return home. My head is clear from the previous running in silence, and I am now able to make a logical decision. I decide, since the sun has not fully set, it could be beneficial for me to ask a person in the surrounding houses to give me directions. I then survey each house on my right side, trying to judge what sort of people might be inside, and if they would be the sort of people to help a stranger.

One house in particular seems fitting to me, although they all look the same.  There were lights on either side of their garage illuminating the driveway and sidewalk leading up to their front door. A small, yet filling tree sat in the middle of their yard as to invite wildlife. I decide that in my current state, I could pass for a wild creature. I walk again towards the house, hands on sides and lungs working hard. I trudge up the sidewalk silently as to not make it seem like I am trespassing.

I hesitate when I reach the door, noticing the lights had turned off behind me. This, however, urges me to quickly knock on the door as to allow light to come out from the inside. After knocking, I heard shuffling from the inside and recognize the ceasing of voices that did not previously seem to be present. The door opens, displaying a middle-aged woman with young features. “May I help you?” she asks with a smile. Her eyes tore into mine, and I feel obligated to in turn ask her if she needs help.  

Collecting myself, I remember the situation I am in and the words I must say in order to return home. “Uh yeah, sorry. I wander off and am not quite sure where I am. You think you could help me out?” I say, now completely certain she is willing to help. Her continuous smile radiates a welcome feeling and the pull of her personality which I had no experience with almost tempts me to step closer.

The woman widens her smile  and shook her head, tilting it slightly. “Sorry, dear,” she said, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Before I am able to retaliate and inquire why she would not help, the door is already closed. With this defeat, I decide it would be best to try one house down. Again, I walk up a similar darkened sidewalk. Again, a middle-aged woman answers, asking if she could be of help. Of course, when I explain my situation, she could not be of any help at all.

I had circled the entire length of the street, and now am only able to see with the distinguishing street lights that illuminate the dark roadway. The moon provides little light, and my feet provide little comfort. I look up at the street sign that marks the end of the street, reading it’s words in the glow of the light. Cerigo Street. I decide this is the same name of the street in which I found myself miles back. Surely, this could not be the same. With being disoriented and hungry, I conclude that I must be remembering incorrectly, and put my mind to rest.  Finding myself in a situation of curiosity and confusion, I decide to sit on the curb. I scan the houses, not finding them to be any different than those on the original Cerigo Street. However, every house I had passed had been relatively the same. With seeing a multitude of homes in such a short period, it could be possible my mind is mixing the features of each house. Putting my confusion to rest, I lay on the curb, giving break to my aching body.





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