At the age of forty, after spending his youth in search of that indescribable something, he saw Red. It was a quiet day, and he was strolling around the pasture besides his cottage. As his feet followed the path they had travelled countless times, his mind was deep in contemplation. He considered his life and wondered what that something he was missing could be. Then, suddenly, he noticed Red. It seemed to stand just beyond the horizon, as if a five-minute walk to the top of a nearby hill would reveal its base. Instantly, more than in any other time in his life, he was sure: this Red is what he was searching for all along.
As he walked back to his cottage, his smile widened uncontrollably. He was so happy that he even let out a burst of laughter. The sound startled him, for he hadn’t heard himself laugh for so long, perhaps years. Once he was inside, he threw all he needed in a bundle and strung it around his shoulder. He stepped out the door, locked it, and hid the key behind a loose brick. Turning to face Red, he took a deep breath, a long refreshing breath, a breath full of promise and excitement and fantastical possibilities. Then he started walking.
This is how his journey started, and it lasted for many months, surely over a year, and maybe two. He walked and walked and saw more than he could describe with words. The world was much bigger than he thought, and it was filled with glorious landscapes and marvelous cities and things stranger than the strangest stories he had heard. He also met the sort of people that never visited the peaceful corner of the Earth where his cottage was. He met devious thieves and exalted scholars and hilarious clowns and fearsome soldiers and many much more. Probably most extraordinary among these were the flying ghosts and stomping giants and—though he barely talked with anyone he met, he did exchange some words with a couple of—talking animals.
All this, he accepted as he saw it, without looking for an explanation or regretting his prior ignorance of its existence. Only one thing occupied his mind throughout the journey: the distance separating him from Red. For no matter how many days he walked, and how many mountains he climbed, and how many lands he crossed, that distance remained exactly the same. Red never came any closer or moved further away. Red stayed just beyond the horizon, and so towards that horizon he continued walking.
One afternoon, having spent the entire morning happily strolling across a beautiful pasture, he remembered his cottage in several vivid flashes. Perhaps the charming character of this pasture resembled that of the pasture besides his cottage, and so it triggered his memory. What matters is that this remembrance made him feel that he was missing something, and importantly, that something wasn’t Red. He missed the comfort of his bed, the view from his window, the smell of his tea, and other such things that tingled his senses.
A few hours later, he sat to have dinner and watch the sunset, his back resting on the trunk of an apple tree. It so happened that the white disk of the setting sun dipped behind Red, making its edges explode in yellow splashes and orange flames. Also, it resulted in Red casting a shadow on the pasture, one that started small and far away, but quickly grew and ran across the landscape to cover him, the tree, and eventually the entire world. He thought that—in a way—he had just touched something of Red, though only its shadow and not itself. He wondered what this could mean, but couldn’t figure it out.
He chose a small grassy mound to sleep on. Lying on his back, he stared at the stars for a long time, and that is when he had an epiphany: though he did not reach Red, and probably never will, it was this extraordinary journey that he truly sought. The journey towards Red had already made him happy. For the past few weeks, what inspired him most was not the possibility of reaching Red, but those amazing sights and fascinating creatures that he met along the way. In a word, he felt content.
When he did fall asleep, he dreamed of a sunset. It was the same one that he just watched, with one difference: the sun dipped in front of Red, not behind it.
The sunrise woke him, but before he even opened his eyes, he knew what he wanted to do. He threw his things in a bundle, strung it around his shoulder, and started walking. But instead of walking towards Red, he made sure it was exactly behind him. He did this for days and weeks and months. During that time, he only looked behind him when he wanted to make sure he was going in the right direction; otherwise, he avoided looking at Red.
One day, he looked back to check his course and Red wasn’t there. He stopped to make sure his eyes hadn’t tricked him. He scanned the horizon all around him, inspecting every hill and tree, but couldn’t find a trace of Red. Despite this, he continued his walk, confident he was on the right path. In the next several weeks, Red appeared and disappeared at irregular times and for unpredictable periods, gradually becoming less present. Eventually, Red only appeared one or two days a week, for only a few minutes, and usually when he was about to make a wrong turn.
After he had walked the same number of days that it took him to reach that apple tree, he found himself in front of his cottage. He pulled the key from behind the loose brick, unlocked the door, walked in, and sighed with relief. He was no longer searching for a something indescribable. Instead, he knew exactly what he had wanted all along: a full life.
As he lay in bed that night, he smiled with all his heart. For a while, he was too happy to fall asleep, and delighted in recalling his favorite moments from his adventure. But his tired body slowly seduced his eyelids to surrender, though a last thought did spark his imagination before he finally fell asleep: what will tomorrow bring him from beyond the horizon?
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