Crossing

The bridge was old and decaying, but the master Mayans had always constructed their artifacts solidly and it was still firm underfoot even after all these many centuries.

 

There was no other way of crossing the chasm. I placed one trembling foot on the first segment and tried my hardest not to look down to the raging abyss of churning water, spray and rocks below. Instead I kept my eyes level and focused on the end of the span, over a kilometer away to the far side of the Great Void.

 

Many had died on this crossing, their bodies dashed and torn to pieces by the tremulous forces below.

 

I placed my second foot on the bridge and felt its algae-covered slipperiness. Gulping loudly, I began to walk...

Done