Down

 Walking on the surface, good, working, on the path forward, I stumbled, at some point, upon the chasm. I looked down, and couldn’t see the bottom. Curiosity, or avoidance, enticed, I started climbing down. Took occasional breaks. Had lunch, no rush. I kept climbing down. Still, no sight of the bottom. Still, clear view of the top. No worries, we’re not committed. It’s just a short excursion.

I kept climbing down.

When does the top go out of sight? When does the abyss lose its appeal?

I wondered when I’d stop.

I kept climbing down. This wasn’t a short excursion, I knew that. But the excuse no longer mattered. It was easier to keep going down than to find my way back up. And so. I kept climbing down.

Somehow, there was no point at which it felt like I was closer to the bottom than the top. Maybe that’s why I was so unconcerned. Maybe that’s why I kept climbing down.

Couldn’t see anymore. Maybe I should’ve stopped. Rather, I should’ve stopped.

Foot slipped. Hung on by my left hand. I’m right-handed. Lost my grip. Fell down.

Slam.

Hit the bottom. Still alive. I looked around.

There was nothing.

There was nothing.

There was nothing.

There was nothing.

There was nothing.

There was nothing.

And no way back up.