(A submission for the Muse of March contest).
The Steemit post claimed it was a "writing contest," but I suspected right away that it was something else. Not even I, however, could have guessed the strange, dark, miraculous place it would take me to.
The contest's purpose -- ostensibly, at least -- was to write a story based on a partially completed picture that the contest-holders supplied. This picture was mostly blackness, with a moon in the sky and a ray of light, what-appeared-to-be a tent, a thick, muscular tree in one corner, and a mountain range in the other. The scale of these features was all askew, almost surreal.
What first caught my attention and raised my suspicions was a slight smudge at the base of the tree. It seemed different from the rest of the pencil-shading, so I magnified the image. Sure enough, I found the words Look Inside written with very small letters into the trunk.
Look inside? I mulled this over a bit. How could I look "inside" the tree?
In a flash of insight, my mind turned up the solution. The words weren't telling me to look inside the penciled tree, but instead to look inside the image itself.
I right-clicked on the contest image and inspected the html. Sure enough, someone had embedded a message in there. Written between angle brackets and dashes in the markup were the numbers 984027.
This, too, was a mystery, but one I quickly solved. Chasing the riddle had gotten my blood up. I knew I was being led on some sort of chase and excitement was building with every confirmed hunch. I right-clicked the image again and used the search engine to search for any other places it might show up. Sure enough, the search engine me to a website.
On this website was nothing but a landing page with the image that had been posted in the contest and a small, white form field, blinking as though daring me to type something into it.
I took a deep breath, entered 984027 into the form field, and hit "return." The screen flashed, and then I was inside the site, where I found myself in a labyrinth with checkerboard floors and walls illuminated by lanterns hung from bronze hands pointing across the hall at each other.
A strange feeling worked on me as I went deeper inside the labyrinth, a feeling I'd never known before. It was eerie, unsettling, vaguely similar listening to that feeling I got whenever my coworkers started talking about politics.
I found my way to the center of the labyrinth where a stone tablet waited on a pedestal. It read: "Welcome, Jeff Suwak. Would you like to play a game of Steemit?" A little white form field blinked in the tablet under the question.
I choked. How did it know my name? It took me several seconds to recapture my breath, but I finally did. My intense need to know overwhelmed my fear. I typed "yes," and hit return.
The words on the tablet disappeared, and new ones began writing themselves in.
"Excellent. Only those with good mind, heart, and spirit may enter. You have proven your mind by solving these riddles thus far. Now will be a test of the heart -- courage and commitment. Go to the coordinates in the map we will soon show you, but know that in doing so, you must leave your old life behind. Do that, and Steemit's secrets may be revealed to you. Would you still like to play the game?"
Images of my family floated through my mind -- my girlfriend, my home. I had a good life. I worked for an accounting firm. I was 27 years old, fit, and I lived comfortably. Yet, something about my life had always seemed hollow, and I often found myself fantasizing about joining a monastery or just going to a cave somewhere and meditating. Strange fantasies, I know, but stranger still because I didn't even believe in God. Something in me, though, yearned for something greater than myself.
Maybe, I thought, Steemit could give me that.
I typed "yes" and hit return.
The words on the digital stone tablet rewrote themselves again. "You can tell no one. These secrets are only for those who earn initiation. Share the secrets and you will be locked out forever, with no hope at a second chance." The page switched to map-software with a pin on a California location (I can't say anything more than that).
I wrote down the coordinates to the pinned location, turned off my computer, and started packing.
I wrote notes to all my family and my girlfriend, packed a bag, and bought a bus ticket. None of this easy, and I don't meant for it to sound like it was. I cried, and I nearly changed my mind multiple times. But, through it all, I felt an intense need to find whatever secrets the game of Steemit was hiding.
My need for answers trumped even my need for love. Whether that is a virtue or a sin, I supposed I'll find out in the next life.
The bus took me to a small town that will remain unnamed. From there, I had to hitchhike into the mountains. The moment I stuck out my thumb, a sixteen-wheeler drove around the bend and slowed to pick me up. Initially, I mistook this for good luck.
I climbed into the truck to see a tall, gaunt man in a black suit. The truck's interior was spotless, and the man was clearly no trucker. Quickly I figured out that good luck had had nothing to do with him showing up. He was part of the game.
The driver didn't say a word as he took us through twisting mountain curves. When we hit a single-lane dirt road and started climbing, a steep drop of hundreds of feet to one side, I nearly screamed for him to stop, but I didn't. This was part of the test of my courage, and I had no intention of failing.
We were twenty miles into back-country when we reached a broad turnaround and the head of an unsigned trail. The man stopped the truck and I climbed out. As I headed for the trail he said through the open driver's side window, "You've now shown your courage and commitment, to come this far and leave so much behind. Your third and final test waits at the end of the trail. Good fortunes to you."
With that, he rolled the window up, turned the truck around, and started driving back the way he came.
I was a few strides down the trail when I heard the gas rev up mightily. I spun around just in time to see the truck make a straight line for the mountain's edge and drive right over it.
My heart froze as I listened to seconds of silence, then the smash and groan of rending metal as the truck hit the ground on the other side.
I didn't need to look over the side to know he was dead. I also didn't need to wonder if he'd done it intentionally. But why? What exactly was this game of Steemit? I turned and looked down that trail leading into heavy forest. Whatever the answer was, I knew, had to be down there.
The trail went on mile after mile, rough hiking up and down steep climbs, the path frequently blocked by felled trees. It was hot out, as well, and there was no water. In my zeal, I'd forgotten to bring my own.
Night fell. A full moon hung in the sky, half covered by a veil of clouds. I was gazing up at the scene when I realized it was exactly how the moon looked in the "writing contest" picture. The second this revelation struck me, I turned a bend in the trail to find myself looking down a barren field with a tent bathed in moonlight and a thick, muscular tree not far from it.
Willies jumped up the back of my neck. I was in the writing contest picture.
Except, of course, that this time the black portions of the drawing were filled in. Where that darkness had been in the picture was now a ring of fire and, in the center of the ring, the Minotaur.
Black eyes in the creature's bullish head watched me steadily. It was at least 12 feet tall, ripped with muscle. In one hand it held an abacus, and in the other a scythe.
Terror nearly paralyzed me, but I'd gone that far and left my old life, and I was willing to die to finally find the secrets the Minotaur held. So, I walked into the ring of fire and stood before the bull-man.
It tipped its head down to study me. It raised its scythe over its head and held it there as the abacus beads began to move up and down. Though no words were passed, I could feel that this was the third test--the abacus was measuring my spirit and my intentions. Failure would mean I lost my head. What would success mean? I didn't know.
My breath quickened. All my life, I never truly felt confident that my intentions were pure. It always seemed to me that people who were convinced of their own virtue were more naive than good, and I suspected shades of darkness worked the levers of even my best impulses.
The abacus finished its counting. All the beads were not on either side, as I never would have expected them to be, but to my relief they were significantly weighted more on one over the other.
The Minotaur lowered its scythe harmlessly by it side. It turned aside as though to let me pass and pointed about a hundred yards away, where a smooth, metal dome had suddenly become illuminated with soft, blue light.
"Enter," it said.
Enter, I did, and that is where this story ends, for no more of these great secrets may be revealed to any except those who are willing to take the same tests.
For those of you who have read this far and were wise enough to figure out that this story was actually the first breadcrumb on an epic journey, I offer an opportunity. Just like the "writing contest" that started me on my own quest, this story is an invitation for you to start your own. If you are wise, brave, and true enough, we invite you to join us.
Good luck and godspeed.
To ye who have spent your days feeling like the common pleasures of life were hollow and insufficient, to ye who yearn and burn to know and understand the secrets of the universe, I offer you an invitation.
Your first clue is in the image below.
But first, tell me, do you want to play a game of Steemit?
