An invisible city
Hebrid is a city that grows in all directions—into earth and sky, towards oceans and deserts. But the growth is slow. As the city changes it shape and height, the hills and fields around it do the same, responding to shifting needs, growing to replenish. The people of Hebrid walk with caution in anticipation of slight fluctuations in the landscape. The shifts are generally slow and continuous. But they can occasionally make you lose your footing, accidentally running into a stranger on the street and inevitably leading to a series of awkward interactions. There are times when houses are set in the hills, but slowly work their way down to the valleys. Hebridians may sometimes find their houses in the sun, and at other times in the shade. But the earth is not expanding. As the earth grows in some areas, it must shrink in others. Areas of the city sink below the surface of the earth, and homes are temporarily located underground. It is considered lucky to have an underground house in the summertime, when Hebrid becomes particularly hot.
You would assume that in a city as large as Hebrid (and it is never quite clear how large it is), buildings would collide and streets would flood as the river changed course. But the city always replies—sometimes even anticipates the upcoming shifts. Most Hebridian buildings are soft and elastic. They bend and twist when the earth beneath (or above) moves and grows. But for those residents of Hebrid who find themselves attached to a particular spot, these shifts in landscape can prove rather dismantling. Their hardened structures are brittle and snap under the motion. A few tragedies have plagued Hebrid when buildings collapsed on passersby, but buildings and builders have learned quickly to respond.
Though a visitor to Hebrid may feel disoriented by the shifts, residents are rarely disturbed by it in their daily routines. There are times when the store is directly underneath your house, and others when it has been relocated to several blocks away. But the people of Hebrid seem to adapt. They have clues to help identify their homes when they have unexpectedly slipped downhill. As the sun rises in the morning (a constant in Hebrid), neighbors must assess changes that occurred during the night. The changes may be subtle, but every morning requires a brief exploration of the land to understand its growth. A series of bridges weave through the city at all levels of sky. Residents have constructed their own shortcut bridges to avoid the new lake in the center of the city. The bridges have become Hebrid’s most popular arteries.
More than that, the fluctuations and visible growth of the earth have actually eased the tension built up in the stagnant city. Because one can never be sure how far away a destination has become, Hebrideans are calm about time’s unpredictability (or rather, the unpredictability of timeliness). The division they draw between work and play is blurred—at times undifferentiated. Perhaps it is the realization that a large yard may soon become small, or that an uphill bike ride may soon be a downhill breeze. The steepness or direction of the climb is never clear, so people are less dependent on standard routes. It is said that there are more chance encounters on the streets of Hebrid. This may be due to the constant need to ask for directions. But more likely, it is a result of the curiosity and exploration required to live in Hebrid, of the consistent fascination with the buildings that have, until now, gone unnoticed. Residents have, amidst the erratic nature of Hebrid, discovered each other as recognizable constants.