So I took a deep breath
as the rush of Lethe deafened me,
and started to walk pace after pace
on the damp oak planks,
trying not to look down
at the gush of oblivion below.
Twice
I almost slipped.
The drawbridge rocked
dangerously as I crossed it.
I was not unsteady on my feet,
but it was not often that anything
living crossed this bridge.
It was clearly built
as an afterthought.
The second time I stumbled,
I nearly slipped through the planks.
It was by sheer luck my fingers
grasped the rope and I pulled myself up.
I wanted to turn back then,
but instead, I looked up at the mountain walls
and saw the glisten of the blue quartz
shine down at me like sapphires.
‘Go on,’ they seemed to urge me.
‘You are so close, go on.’
So I steeled myself
and took the next step.
Then the next and the next, but then…
The Thing on the Drawbridge
It was standing in the middle
