UNKNOWN HORIZONS

I recalculate the coordinates. I'm not sure if I got the right ones. I should find dialogue and progress here. I don't see them. Instead, I'm standing on frozen ground among the torsos of metal and concrete that once served as altars of power. The red light doesn't come from the stars, but from spotlights that illuminate the past to make it look glorious again. History is not being broken here—it is just slowly turning and showing the same face. Things are not moving forward, they are just changing color. The monuments remain, but they have changed tone. They no longer remind—they command. Instead of warning, they now order. The concrete is silent, but it serves again. Silence is not peace. It is only a premonition of noisier times. A nation that cannot admit what it has already experienced is doomed to experience it again. This land is not a place on the road today. It is a place of return. And I just recalculate the coordinates and hope that this is not the right location.