“They’re both a chance for adventure,” you think out-loud to yourself, “The right so rich and the left so decayed . . . but I don’t care for riches.”

You glance at the dull, wooden bridge, letting your eyes stray slowly along its un-finished length. Yet how can you be certain that taking it will lead to adventure?

“Would it not be more adventurous to take an un-carved path?” you question the stillness. It replies with silence and you wonder if silence means ‘no’ or ‘yes’. You shake your head and smile somewhat bitterly.

“As if shadows could talk,” you step back from the edge and, on impulse, look behind you.

Nothing but darkness meets your gaze. At first, you wonder if, perhaps, a path could be carved through there? But no – you decide – that leads nowhere save back to the waking world, and you want to go somewhere new for a change.

“But if this is a dream,” you reason, “Why can’t I make my own bridge? Or, better yet, what if I . . .” you turn and step closer to the chasm’s rim.

It’s a long fall – a fall into eternity. Yet, this is a dream, so nothing bad could happen, right? Besides – you glance first at the golden bridge, then at the wooden – you don’t want to follow a path already-made. A gleam comes into your eyes as you think of all the times you have taken paths chosen for you by others. You are tired of it. It’s about time you carved your own path.

Below you the shadows seem to beckon, promising adventure and a new chance. A place to restart, rethink and redo. Remake a past you have no pride in and nothing accomplished worthy of merit.

“It’s so deep,” you think, gazing into the bottomless well of blackness. You feel yourself drawn to it – the promise of a new path, “A path of my making.” Shadows seem to reach from the void, taking your hands, your feet, and drawing you in to their embrace. You lean out over the chasm.

As if a sudden hand had seized your arm, something jerks you back from the brink. You find yourself breathless, your pulse racing and eyes wide. What are you doing? That’s suicide! Or, wait . . . you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts.

“It’s only a dream,” you remind yourself. But for some reason, you don’t believe it – not really. Somehow this is more than a dream. It became so the moment you chose to take the path. Looking up, your eyes light, once more, upon the golden bridge.

“It too promises,” you think to yourself, “The gold and light are a promise of perfection – but it’s all wrong, like the darkness.” Neither can be trusted, for both pledge wonders too good to be true – to good to be good.

You blink, and look at the wooden bridge. After a long pause, a single thought whispers through your mind.

“Help.”

Unlike the darkness and the light, this bare, broken path promises nothing. No joy, no sorrow, no wonder, no adventure. It gives no pledge and begs no trust. But there is something else – something truly unique about this bridge. You glance, first at the darkness, the light, and then the wooden bridge. Moments slip by . . .

“Hope,” you murmur. The wooden bridge is so broken, yet its timbers are bound together with hope. The darkness is empty – it has no hope. The light is resplendent – but it has no hope. This bridge – this ugly wooden structure, falling to pieces and decay - it has life, if only just enough.

“If bridges are worlds,” you think, “Then this one needs help.”

“But who are you to think you can help?” The darkness taunts.

“What claim has that thing to your help?” The light flatters.

Walking down the chasm’s brim, you stop before the bridge. A deep breath, not a glance behind or beside, and you step onto the bridge.

It is firm. Another step forward and you feel the planks beneath your feet groan. You pause and listen to the thunder of your heart. Glancing to the right, you wonder if you’ve made the right choice. The golden bridge is gone.

“Right or no,” you mutter to yourself, “I’ve got nowhere else now.”

You close your eyes. You’re so afraid of falling – wouldn’t it just be better to jump? You lean against a rail, feeling it shift. If you push hard enough, maybe . . .

“No!” you exclaim. Your eyes fly open and you straighten. Now that the light is gone, the darkness pulls at you more incessantly. But you will not give in. Clenching your jaw, you set your eyes straight ahead and, without bothering to look for your footholds, you stride across the bridge.

“I have chosen it, so it will bear me and where it doesn’t bear me the emptiness will,” you think and through sheer force of will, realize that you are still dreaming as the holes your feet land on are firm as stone.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” you murmur.

It seems like a long time has passed, before you pause and look about you. Darkness beside, darkness behind, above, below and all around you. How can you see then? With a start, your eyes land on the ropes of the bridge. Those silver strands in them – they’re glowing? You step closer to the side and finger one of the ropes. A smile spreads across your face – that is the hope!

“Wow,” you whisper, shaking your head. Maybe there is more to this bridge than first meets the eye. Lifting your eyes, you gaze onward, into the receding darkness. It’s so long. Where would the bridge end . . . if ever.

“No giving up,” you say to yourself, and as your hand rests on one of the glowing ropes, a light wakes in your mind, “What if,” you wonder, “What if I just . . . hope? Hope for an end to come or a door to appear. Yeah,” you start walking again, “I’ll hope.”

For the next age you keep alert, watching for any signs of ending or beginning, door or portal. As you walk, you see the bridge change, as if it were the structure of time, molding first this way then that to picture each age, decade and year. Maybe even seconds. For a seeming millennia, no door appears.

“What am I looking for?” you ask the stillness. Walking has become so natural, you don’t even consider that you’re doing it, “Where do you want me to go!?” you call, still walking.

Ahead, there appears a hole in the bridge. Spanning from rail to rail it stretches on for at least three yards before the bridge resumes its onward course. You pause at the brink and look down into darkness. Endless night.

The darkness in it – it seems almost watery. Without thinking, you lower on one knee before it and reach a hand into the rippling shadows. They shock you, like ice-cold water, but you don’t pull your hand out. Something’s in there . . . you feel a solid, smooth object touch your fingers. You grasp it, and pull it from the hole.

A . . . mirror? Not exactly. It looks more like an enormous silver plate. But the center – it’s not solid. You touch it and again feel the shocking cold.

“More like moon-light on mist than anything else,” you murmur. Peering into the billowing center, you think you can discern shapes. Shadows.

“What do you want me to do?” you whisper. A sudden urge to submerge your face in the watery brilliance steals over you. No, that’s crazy! It’d freeze your brain, or . . . you look closer. There really is someone in there! It looks like a man and, someone shorter – a child? You lift the window closer.

A memory blows through your mind:

“Welcome, Seer,” the old voice had said.

“Seer? What’s that?” You had replied. At once you realize that the old man never answered your question.

“What am I supposed to see?” you wonder aloud. The images shift and morph, forming first a tree, then a mountain, then a stallion, then the man and child. You see the child grasping the man’s hand. He lowers on one knee, drawing the child into his arms. Dark figures appear behind the man. They seize him, pulling him away from the child. You hold your breath and feel like your heart is rending in two as the small shadow seems to cry out. The child runs and the picture moves with him. He runs until he stumbles and falling, lays still. A dark pool appears beside his head.

“NO!” you scream, but the scene changes. The man again! But he is chained and gagged. You see him lift his head and hands, grasping for a thin ray of light. You see him kneel in it and bow his head. He is still for a long time. His shoulders shake. He is crying. You blink, trying to clear your sight. They’re just pictures! Why does this hurt so much? Again the dark figures appear and again they drag the man away. The window turns dark.

“No,” you whisper, reaching into it again, “No, no, you can’t stop there!” you wave your hand through the vapor, trying to will the shadows back.

The window is still. You start to your feet and look beyond it into the hole.

“If I jump, can I save them?” you whisper. The darkness shifts and begins to glow like the window in your hands. You lay it on the bridge beside you and kneel down once more, leaning close.

“What do you want to show me?” you ask. The shadows swirl, morph, and solidify into a single picture. The boy, but this time no longer a shadow. There is color and life! But something’s wrong. You look closer and realize it is the same picture from before. There is blood on the ground under his head, staining his light brown hair dark. His eyes are closed though tear tracts run from them down his face. You see his lips move and mouth open just slightly. He’s alive! But for how long . . . you lean back.

Dare you jump?

You look ahead. It wouldn’t be hard to climb the railing and cross the hole. Maybe there’d still be a door ahead. Maybe this is just a trick. You look down again. What if it is?

“How can I know what I am seeing is true?” you whisper. The window does not shift or reply. You close your eyes. Onward, back, inward – which do you choose? For all you know, this drop could lead to destruction. Then again, it could lead to salvation. But the way ahead – there must be a door! After all – if this bridge is time, then maybe you’re only in the middle of it. It has to stop somewhere, and there is where nothing yet has happened. Then how could this be empty? It doesn’t make sense.

You stand, and opening your eyes, gaze down through the window.

“If I wait it may be too late,” you murmur, “But if I go . . . I might die and have done no good.”