Monday, February 23, 2015

The End of Myself

The end. This was it: I could feel the precipice crumbling beneath my toes. I took no step back, only stood there looking into the thick darkness. Eternity was not forever, then; it stopped here, a dry, dusty cliff with a wall of black in front and down and on all sides.

I pushed against the wall. It pushed back—nothing to be done.

So? What now? To go back the way I came? Tell whoever's there (if anyone is left?) that I've done it, I reached the end of eternity and it is nothing but nothing.

Despair rose in a choking instant. I had hoped to find something when I pressed forward: a sign, at least, to guide me where I needed to go. But here was only cold dust on my feet, and everywhere a darkness so heavy I could have been blind. Perhaps I was.

A footstep.

I tensed, ready to run. Another step, closer this time. Warm light sparked, flickered, and illuminated a face. It was him.

"When did you get here?" I asked.

"I've been," he said.

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