Difficult to enter, no one speaks to visitors in Commanding who are greeted by an enormous gate whatever direction they arrive from. Walls surround Commanding. No one asks why you have arrived.
Soldiers wait in perched guard houses. Signs direct visitors with stern language.
There’s paperwork to complete. It takes hours. No one answers questions. Take your best guess. Later, terse uniformed guards return the papers. They thrust them down upon desks and point at answers found wanting.
The guards wear red and gold with high-collars and low helms.
You are but a petitioner in this place, and so, good luck.
Dull Commanding. Barren. Bleak. The land lacks distinguishing features. A dearth of flowers.
Visitor queue front of the biggest gate Dismissed, where most guards live and patrol. Travelers queue for a chance to enter and glimpse the Commanding life.
Some petitioners hope to gain permanent entry. Some wish to join the ranks of the gold-helmed guard. The lines stretch into the Desert of Desperation. Guards march up and down the line at regular intervals.
Petitioners cannot see beyond the Gate to Commanding.
“I think I see the shine of a river," says one petitioner.
“It must be beautiful inside," says another.
“It is a mirage,” advises Miss Emeline Traveler. “The heat of sun upon sand.”
Dismissed turns most away rudely, so they never discover Commanding’s false promise for themselves.
“I never made it in,” says R. Grove, regretfully.
“You missed nothing,” says Miss Emeline, but, in this case, even The Traveler is disbelieved.
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