Talhe'ad: City of Death

Content warning!

This article contains mentions of suicide.

In this dream, Ca'eam is called Talhe'ad, City of Death. No one lives in Talhe'ad, as it is not for the living— and leads the world in purposeful ends. Talhe'ad is an end, not a beginning.

The Pit

Between its high rises and beneath its bridges, Talhe'ad is pocked with bottomless pits. People travel far and wide to throw themselves into these dark wells, where their bodies will never be found. Some ache from lost love, some tire from the humdrum of work, and others struggle to find meaning in the beige tapestries of their lives. Whatever the reason, none make the pilgrimage with the intent to return home.
Despite the city's morbid purpose, it is quite colorful— with bright paints coating its walls, patterned tapestries hung from wires strung between buildings, and an ever-shining sun overhead. Rumor has it that Talhe'ad has never seen so much as a single cloud since it was built. Yet, all of its structures are empty— a store may have a welcoming sign over its doors, yet contain nothing but dust. Some believe the city was once full of what one would expect; furniture, vehicles, plants, animals— people— but all of that was thrown into the city's many pits for reasons unknown.

Some have tried to wall off the hollow city, but these barriers serve only as minor obstacles for the pilgrims to clamber over. A few are discouraged from their journey, and turn back, but many still press onwards. The pilgrimage is always made on foot, as if those making the journey wish to delay its end— even if they would ultimately see it through.
It is said that the journey down the wells of Talhe'ad is comforting— quick, painless, and merciful. Some even say that if one were to die in Talhe'ad, it would spare both them and their loved ones from any grief their end may bring. To many, this rumor is worth testing.

I think I'd like to disappear,
Without shedding any tears,
There's this place I hear,
Somewhere far away,
Where I can finally lay,
And see my final day.

— Unknown visitor