Laoeked1111 Habitica 01-28-2023

Prompt: SOMETHING WEIRD- A town whose layout is randomly changed every day. Write about the main character having to go to work in that town, which is 30 minutes away from where he lives, and he tries to find out why his office is always in a different location every single day.

The Magic of Ridewton

When my flight to Ridewton was nearing its close, I looked out the window and watched the evening clouds drift slowly past the wing of the plane like a parade of the fluffiest purple-pink drapery. The sun had just set a few minutes before, casting all the landscape below in that familiar pink glow one could only find at dawn or dusk. These were the moments when the gods seemed to hold the clock pendulum back, just for you, so that you might let yourself absorb the entirety of the spectacle they had arranged. When they relinquished their grasp, the pendulum still seemed to swing through honey, and every protracted second would imprint its own little click into the ear, like a kind of auditory afterimage.

As we approached the airport, the remainder of the sun’s light faded away; the lengthening shadows disappeared into each others’ shapes, and the buildings of Ridewton became alive; thousands of blinking stars then stared up at me from the ground below. From the air, I saw that the city was small and compact, with most of its stars concentrated near the disc-like nucleus and some spreading into the adjoining landscape; it was nestled in the dip between two gently rising slopes mostly obscured in wintry fog like cosmic, interstellar dust. We began to descend, and as the plane’s wheels struck ground, I was gratified by the silky voice of the pilot: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached Ridewton.”

When an Uber driver came to deliver me to my new Ridewton residence, I had dreamily noted how he didn’t use a GPS or road map. Evidently, he had the whole of the city layout memorized after years of driving around: it touched me that someone could grow to know their town so well. It took about forty minutes to reach my apartment building, which I then saw was an imposing ivory-white structure lined with terraces up the west and east sides, from which ivy leaves dangled in the breeze. In my opinion, it looked much better in the flickering orange light of the sodium lamps in the parking lot than the image I had seen on the website. I thanked the driver, introduced myself to the landlord – a good-natured, young man – and collapsed in exhaustion onto the velvety floor of my apartment.



The next morning I woke early, prepared myself in the mirror, hastily ate, and marched out the door of my apartment. I was in Ridewton as a newly hired professor of modern algebra, and tired as I was, it was now the first day of teaching, and I needed to get to the university campus. However, as I entered “Ridewton University” into Google maps, I was unable to receive directions. I figured the area simply hadn’t been mapped before. As I made my way through the lobby, I stopped a man who was wearing a business suit and shiny leather shoes.

“Excuse me, could you tell me how I could get to Ridewton University?”

The man smiled at me. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m not. How’d you tell?”

“No Ridewtonian ever has to ask for directions!” he remarked, still smiling.

“Well, I’ll learn my way around in due time. Can you help me get to the University? I have a class to teach.”

He looked at his watch. “It should be no more than a thirty-minute walk. Come, let’s find your university. I’m on my way to work as well.”

“Where do you work?”

“Just a nine-to-five office job, but they can be found anywhere. Who knows where it is?”

With that, he turned and stepped out the sliding doors, beckoning me to follow.

His name was Greg, he told me as we walked. Greg was about an inch shorter than I, though not short; in fact, I had to quicken my step to keep up with him as we went about amidst the bustle of the downtown. He said he had lived in Ridewton all his life and had graduated from Ridewton University about eight years back. Now, he worked at a moderately sized insurance firm. He asked me where I was from, what classes I would be teaching, and whether I was already familiar with “the magic of Ridewton.”

“It sure seems to be a nice place,” I said.

“That’s not really what I mean, but I will take that as a ‘no.’”

“What did you mean by ‘the magic of Ridewton,’ then?”

“You will soon find out! I want you to be able to experience it for yourself.”

Realizing I wasn’t going to get much more information out of him, we continued down several blocks in silence. Finally, we found ourselves at the head of the campus of a large university. A large marble slab stood to the side of the inlet, into which had been carved in Roman font “Ridewton University.”

I checked my phone. It had only taken twenty-five minutes to arrive. I had fifteen minutes to get to class; luckily, a large campus map board stood visible at the head of the parking lot by the entrance. I turned to Greg.

“Thanks for helping me get here; I’ll manage the rest. You should get going to work. How long do you have before you need to check in?”

He squinted at his wrist. “About five minutes.”

“What! You’d better get going then! I am so sorry for holding you back so long.”

Once again he smiled at me. “Don’t be. I’m never late.”

And with that he turned and started walking in the opposite direction.



The next morning, Greg was waiting for me at the sliding doors of the apartment lobby. He was wearing a navy-blue T-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. Casual Friday, I surmised.

“Going to work again?” he asked.

“Yes, but I won’t hold you back today. I remember how to get to campus.”

“I believe you might be surprised to find your memory won’t help you as much as you think.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s go find out.”

He promptly got up and swung his bag around himself, starting toward the door. I had known this man for two days, and I had already concluded that he was one of the most peculiar people I had ever met. Still, I shrugged off my puzzlement and power-walked to catch up to him.

It didn’t take long to figure out what he meant. As we walked down the avenue, I observed the buildings and streets we passed, all oddly unfamiliar to me. I could not recall having seen the street signs we were now passing, nor did I recognize the different road intersections we crossed. But I was especially bewildered when, five minutes after leaving, we were again at the head of the university.

“Hmm, conveniently close today,” he chuckled.

“Didn’t it take, like, twenty minutes to get here yesterday?” I asked.

“Something of the sort.”

“It’s only been five!” I ejaculated, waving my phone in the air. “Being a math professor, I can hardly say I approve of the notion that five and twenty are the same, Greg. Have you taken us on a shortcut?”

“Yes, I suppose we have taken a shorter route than yesterday, though I hadn’t realized it.”

“What do you mean?”

“How long is it until your class?”

“Surely not shorter time than an explanation for what all this means.”

“Very well.” And then he smiled at me. “You won’t believe it the first time around, but I daresay you’ll soon get comfortable with it.”

He proceeded to explain that Ridewton, as a small town, had an enchantment placed on it which interfered with the natural laws of time and space. Every night, through unknown processes, the entirety of the town’s layout would change, and nobody was able to predict how it would turn out the next day. Nor did anyone use maps or GPSs in Ridewton; they would be completely useless, he said. He also remarked that time in Ridewton would stop for an individual when they were traveling. Hence, he could meander throughout the entire city to find his office and still be there before nine every day. It was quite “mystical,” as Greg put it, that Ridewton kept its enchantment when it started transforming into a city.

“You are right; I think that is absolutely absurd,” I exclaimed. Yet, as I was listening to his explanation, the corners of my mouth had shifted upwards a little. I couldn’t help it. If that was the real explanation, I thought, it would actually be incredible.

Greg seemed to read my expression, but he didn’t comment on it.

“I should get going. I’ll see you later.”



A month later, Greg and I found ourselves on Aufind Street. After several weeks of walking through unfamiliar grounds, I had finally settled that Greg had been telling me the candid truth about Ridewton, and I had become more accepting of the veracity of the tales Greg told me. He had alluded to Aufind Street a few times, telling me that it was perhaps “the most spectacular part of the entire city,” though why it was so amazing was not intimated.

It was a hazy Sunday afternoon when we made the turn from the squalid, trash-ridden Lowell Avenue into Aufind Street. I knew it for what it was at once, for on either side of the road, the buildings pierced the sky hundreds of feet up; their glass doors and windows were glossed with golden film; their walls, too, radiant and gilded and polished like the surface of a lake. They stood like imperial guards, staring down at us with solemn visage as the setting sun, near the horizon, cantered down the street away from us like a king in a carriage.

We stood there for some twenty minutes before the sky grew purple, and the buildings around us retired into dormancy; the street below was cast into shadow. I looked over at Greg. He was still staring down the empty road.

“I’m really glad you stopped me that day you were looking for the university. I have to say that though I love this place, it was lonesome for me with everyone living in their own space and time. I’ve been down this place many times – I’ve seen Aufind Street looking even better than that, if you can believe it – but what’s the point if nobody saw it with me?”

Not looking at me, he smiled.

And then he turned back to Lowell Avenue, and we began our voyage back to the apartment. I trailed behind him a few steps as usual. As the sky started growing dark, and the sodium lamps at the intersections began flickering on, he started whistling a tune. I think it was Vansire’s “Metamodernity.”