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The Crossing

Dusk. An empty corridor ahead. It is long and deserted. Fearful like a man’s last breath. Ominous like the moon behind the clouds. A dark sky, a prophecy of darkness. Then suddenly, a human figure. No gender can be determined. It is featureless. Yet two in one. It is skullish and frail, robed. The sky makes no noise, no flash or boom, but shows darkness unforgiving. The corridor seems to darken, shutting out everything but the solitary, foreboding shape. It raises an arm. And beckons. I cannot resist. I feel tugged in both directions. But I take the fist fateful step.

Forwards.
As I move, it seems surreal. And as I look behind, I see white shades of exactly my previous movements suspended where I was. And I see it now, the figure. As I reach it, I take his outstretched hand. Black.




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