Still Experimenting With Styles

still experimenting with styles

The Canyon

We walk together in the fog, hand in hand. Your fingers interlock with mine like a jigsaw puzzle that’s missing half the pieces. I squeeze your palm tight the way a desperate young child holds on to a prayer.

I turn to you and ask, “Do you know where we’re going?”

You smirk and reply, “You’ll see.”

In the mist a shadow appears in front of us – two wooden posts, rickety boards, a bridge crossing a canyon. I stop, and you pull on my arm.

Turning to me, you say “What’s the matter?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. “That doesn’t look… stable. Is there another way we could go?”

You laugh. “You’ll be fine, this is the quickest way. Don’t be such a worrier.”

I let you pull me closer to the bridge, but stop when I look over the edge. The canyon descends into an inky blackness of which I cannot see the bottom. I swallow hard as I imagine both of us plunging into those depths, so deep nobody would even hear the echo of my screams.

You tug on my arm again, rougher this time, more annoyed. One of your feet is sitting on the first board, and every time you move I hear it creak. “Come on, don’t be a pussy.”

I feel my nose crinkle as my face contorts into a frown. “Can’t we take the long way?”

You squeeze my hand hard enough it hurts. “I told you, this is the way we’re going. If you don’t follow me, I’ll go without you.”

I shuffle my feet towards the bridge tentatively, and you respond by pulling me roughly onto the bridge to follow you. I drag behind, trying with all my willpower to just keep my eyes on the back of your head instead of peering into the darkness below us. The further back I fall, the harder you stomp your feet, making the bridge shake and groan. On one footfall I feel the board underneath us almost give way, and I stop dead in my tracks.

“Please,” I say, “Can we stop? Can we just go home?”

You turn around and look at me with hate in your eyes. “Don’t you want to see where I was taking you?”

I panic. “I mean.. yes, but I’m really freaked out now, I don’t like that I can’t see the bottom and–”

“God,” you roll your eyes, “You’re so high-maintenance.”

“I’m sorry, I just–” I shrink into myself, my hand shaking in yours, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s whatever” You say, looking off into the distance, “It’s fine. You can go home.”

My voice trembles. “Don’t you want to come with me?”

“I want to cross the bridge. I made that clear already.”

I stare at you with pleading eyes, and I can’t make my throat cooperate with my voice. I feel the board beneath me crack, and I jump, which only makes it crack more.

“Please,” I finally say, begging, “I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

You scoff. “We’re already halfway over it, and nothing bad has happened yet. Just come on.”

I can’t stop myself from shifting my weight nervously, even though it just makes the bridge sway. I start to feel sick.

“I–” I stutter, “I can’t.”

I let go of your hand, and there is silence except for the squeaking of the bridge. You turn your body to face me. Your gaze pierces through me, no longer smirking nor annoyed – just cold.

There is silence. You lift your foot, and for a second I think you’re going to step towards me, that you are listening to my plea to just turn around and go home. But instead you slam the ball of your foot down hard on the board between my legs, shattering it in one fell swoop.

There is a sickening crack as the board gives way. I reach for you again, but you do not reach back. I shriek your name, and you say nothing.

I fall, I fall, I fall – and then there is black.