The Bridge To Nowhere, a five minute freewrite

"It's time," she says, squeezing my hand. "It's time to cross the Bridge." I blink.

I don't want to cross it.

What's on the other side? I ask.

But nothing comes out of my mouth.

"It's okay," she said. "You can cross it. Just take one step at a time."

I blink again. I open my mouth to tell her, No! I don't want to go!

But again, nothing comes out.

My eyes close.

The Bridge is there.

It has always been there, I realise.

It stretches out in front of me.

I can't see the end.

Is there an end?

I take a deep breath and shudder.

"That's right," she whispers, her hand in mine. "Take a step."

I shuffle forward. The wooden slats beneath my feet are surprisingly warm. The bridge sways slightly as it begins to bear my weight.

But not in a scary way.

It feels gentle.

Comforting.

Like being rocked in a cradle.

Was I ever rocked in a cradle? I wonder. Was I rocked in the arms of my mother?

Whatever.

It feels safe.

I take another step on the bridge to nowhere.

...