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You know what’s down there in the dark. The silent echoes that drown out…everything. Screams and pleas stolen before they reach your throat. Laughter? not even a memory, it must have existed once. Maybe. No.

You know the crushing embrace of emptiness, of nothing, the weight of its compression around your chest. Every nerve eclipsed. Snuffed out. Gone.

And yet, you stand on the edge, staring into the void. You know what’s down there.

One step. The path, a bridge, the way through, is there. Come on, voices whisper from the other side, blind to the depths. It’s right there, as they stomp on firm ground.

One step. One falter. One fall.

You crumble. The darkness surges, not inching anymore. Closer, almost there.

It’s you. The voices turn away, seeing only your collapse. Their parting words amplify, replace the deafening silence. You close your eyes, immersing in darkness before it can claim you.

You tremble for a minute…a week…a year?

There was something there once. A bridge. Planks – cracked. Missing. Rotting away.
Rebuild it. Again. Again. Each time, less to build with. Decaying wood, frayed rope, all crumble and fall. The darkness feasts.

Why build a bridge? A new voice cuts through. Resonant, rumbling. Not a whisper.
You have to build it, cross it. The planks are waiting, giving way to time.
Build something else. The parts are all there.