“What is it?” asks the boy. He has asked many questions.
“It is the city that houses the intellect of the Universe,” says the old man who holds his hand. He is patient and kind and has been answering the boy’s every query since their journey began many moments ago.
Time is an illusion. They have eternity. Curiosity is a good thing.
“The whole universe.”
“Well,’ the old man begins wondering how much he should say. ‘This one anyway.”
“There are more?”
“Are we going there?”
“If you want.”
The boy scrunchies his face in thought. The old man loves him a bit more watching him decide whether he wants to visit the great city.
“What’s in there?”
“A theatre that plays every single dream every dreamt. A library of every thought ever had. A gallery of every image captured by all eyes throughout time. Concerts of forgotten conversations between the greatest people ever born. The history of everything written out in long form with no doubts.”
“Would I like it?”
The old man thinks on this moment, before answering,”Not yet. You would enjoy the city you built during your lifetime better. It would be more familiar.”
“When do we get there.”
“soon. We have much to discuss while we travel. Shall we fly?”
And the old man allows the boy his knee and holds his hand is he climbs up onto his back. Once the child is seated comfortable he spreads his great grey wings and with three heavy flaps and a leap they are airborne again soaring through the golden air.