The Footbridge of Doom

They called it “The Footbridge of Doom” because whoever crossed it, never returned. Every person stalled at the broken plank, even those who started out running, they at least gave a pause. Yet, for some, it had an unendurable lure – you could go mad or cross the footbridge and who knows what happened then?

It wasn’t until fate had me passing the footbridge on my daily commute that I started to get the urge. I can only say that once the idea of crossing was in my mind, I could never stop thinking of it, it was always lurking there in the corner of every idea and punctuating every thought. My life grew more dissatisfying and I could not help but wonder what promises were waiting for me on the other side. I had no reason to stay. Fear was my only anchor.

I started to hear whispers all around me, in the wind and from passing strangers in my dreams. I could not hear their words, only that they were whispering. The wind was the only one who had crossed the footbridge and still lived to tell me about it. Now, I stand here, facing the footbridge. People are watching me like I am about to plunge to my death.

“Let me cross, let me cross. I beg you to let me cross!” I plead. My own voice whispers gently, “You need not beg. Go, if you are willing.”