Have you seen it?

The bridge from the cliff edge.

It stretches out for miles into the mist.

Some even say it doesn't end.

Other say it isn't even real.

But I know it's real.

For I have stepped on it, and I have yet to find it's end.

The wooden planks creek as I step on them, it feels like with every step I take, I get closer to breaking it.

The view around me is nothing more than mist and harsh winds covering my view from all sides.

Under me, I hear what sounds like crashing waves, or maybe it is screams.

Screams of those who have given up on the path the bridge takes them. Screams of those who found the end of their bridge.

The howling winds swing the bridge from side to side.

Left to right. Right to left. Left to right.

Like a pendulum forever swinging.

Yet it is comforting. Like being cradled by the waves whilst traveling by boat on the vast seas.

I have no longer the knowledge of what time of day it is. No knowledge if it is day or if it's night. Nor how long I have been walking on this creaking old bridge.

Yet I need to continue.

Continue my path on the bridge.

The screaming waves from beneath me grow louder with each step I take on the swinging bridge.

Yet I haven't seen as much as the form of another as I walk this bridge. Not in front of me nor from behind me.

Nevertheless, I continue the path the bridge takes me.

I saw someone. I knew I wasn't alone. For how could it only be me who was called to walk this bridge?

She stood by the edge looking out into the mist, the distant sounds of seagulls echo out.

She seemed to be talking to someone.

Was she talking to me?

Why?

Nevertheless, I continued my path down the creaking bridge. For my path still continues.

Today, my path was interrupted by a line of people slowly walking. The line continued into the mist, and as I entered, more people entered the line from behind me.

We continued our paths through this slight crowd.

As I stood there, I decided to talk to some people.

I talked to a man named Richard. He told me, his husband had convinced him to take his chance and walk the bridge. He apparently used to work for a construction company before the bridge.

I talked to a woman named Mellony.  She was apparently just heading home from a party when she accidentally walked onto the bridge.

I asked both where they thought the bridge was taking us.

Richard told me that it was taking us to where we have to be. Whilst Mellony thought it was taking us to another world.

I asked them what they thought the bridge was.

Both answered the same thing.

"It's a bridge. It's my bridge."

After some time, the other people started to walk again as I sat down to rest. Before I continued my path on the bridge.

I have walked this bridge for a long time now. My hair has grown long, my eyes heavy and tiered, and my nails untrimmed.

I had started to hear a whistling melody echoing through the abyss. Drowning out the screaming waves under me. I walk and walk, and the whistle persuades. It was a song I had heard before. A song that once brought me intrigued and awe, but now it felt hollow and sad.

Further ahead, I started to see a figure. Tall and well-dressed. A figure clad in a fine leather coat and an old black hat. I realized that it was it that was whistling. It looked away from me, so I couldn't see it's face. If it now had one.

I looked at the figure. Tired to speak to it, but it simply continued it's whistling. I knew I should have felt fear. However, in this moment, it all just felt sad.

All that this being stood for simply felt sad. It's song was hollow, like if it was ashamed. Grieving something.

It looked lonely.

I pitied it.

So I sat down.

I don't know for how long I sat. But it didn't seem to matter. I sat with it as it whistled it's hollow song.

I even sang along.

For some reason, I didn't want it to feel alone. None deserved to be alone on the bridge.

Eventually, it walked into the mist. Disappearing from my sight.

So eventually, I too left. Continuing my path on the bridge.

My aged bones creek like the wood I walk on. My gray hair fades into the mist around me, and my jagged nails dig into my hands as they close around the ropes of the bridge.

I have walked on the bridge for ages, too long to count. Yet I feel as young as the day I stepped foot on it.

The noises under me still scream out like they always do. Figures pass, and sometimes they don't.

Yet the end of the bridge seems so long away. I do wonder where you will take me.

Nevertheless, on I go. Down my path on this creaking old bridge.