It would have been pitch black if it were not for the dull moonlight seeping through the trees. There were no other signs of life ever since I arrived at the rickety bridge.

Few people knew of the ancient bridge which has been standing here, God knows since when. Bridge of Time they called it -- my father shared this whenever we came hiking here back when I was a kid. He said that according to an old legend, his mother told him, that this bridge is said to be a line between life and death. And that is how its name came to be; since if anything could be between life and death, it would be time. It said that in ancient days, people could talk to those on the other side through the bridge. Apparently, the waters under the bridge were blessed by the deities to grant the wishes of those between life and death. I vaguely remembered being so intrigued by the story at the age of six, that I was not able to sleep all night; now after 14 years, it still intrigued me.

I knew it was just a legend but towards the beginning, whenever I was here, I could still feel my father's presence. I could remember his bright smile as I basked in the moonlight on the bridge. In all its tranquility, thankfully, the only sound I could hear was his heartwarming laughter. Nevertheless, as years passed, the bridge felt less and less magical. I still remembered him, but I could not feel him as much anymore. To be fair, I stopped coming by as much. That is what time was supposed to do, perhaps. It is supposed to slowly erase everything - happy memories, scars, and everything in between.

But unfortunately, time does not always do that unbiasedly. Sometimes it diminishes the happy memories while the agonizing ones stay behind.

Standing on the bridge, I stared, transfixed, at the waters lapping softly far below, unsure what I was hoping to find. Somehow, it felt like the right place to end.

My arms were still stinging, and my left ear was still ringing. I smiled sadly at the moon, wondering if my father knew I was here like this. It was difficult to not silently wish that someone would just pat my head like my father used to. I am thinking of all kinds of nonsense now, aren't I?

Honestly, exhaustion was hitting me like a truck, that too, repeatedly. Holding on to the freezing railing tight was proving to be challenging. I could barely hear my raspy breath. It was not only because bolts of pain were running up and down my back, but because inside it felt like someone was choking me so much that taking even one breath felt cruel. There was no one around who could hold me once and say that everything would be okay and that I was not alone. I did not have a home to go back to anymore, and more than that I did not have the will to go on. Everything hurts.

Before I could think anymore, I staggeringly somehow pushed myself over the railing and found myself standing on the edge of the bridge, holding onto the railing behind me. The wintry breeze sent shivers up and down my spine. Gushing sounds emanated from the waves; they were crashing into each other more powerfully now as if they were already mourning what was to come.

My hands were slippery and somewhat warm because of all the blood. As I coughed, I could taste the growing smell of iron in my mouth. I gave a hollow laugh. I am dying either way. Is that it?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Tears fell unbidden, though I couldn’t call it crying. The raw pain and cold air burned as my breaths grew shallow and frantic. My knees buckled, and my head spun as despair took hold.

I was not sure if I was, in fact, howling in resentment or if it was all in my head.

Now that I was truly on the brink of life and death, it felt like I was finally registering all the disappointment, injustice, fear, anger, and anguish. I did not understand why and how I had come to this point in my life. I never properly stood up for myself. I did not even get a chance to have dreams. I did not make friends or fall in love. I did not make the stupid mistakes that young people make. How did I live so far?

It struck me that I was more terrified than furious. I did not want to jump; I did not want my life to end like this. Why should I give up now on my own, after everything? Not sure how but I have to try to live somehow.

I twisted my body and let go of one hand to turn around and climb back on the bridge.

Maybe I was too shocked to scream when my remaining hand on the railing slipped accidentally.

And I started falling headfirst.

With the little remaining strength I had, I shut my eyes and prayed to whichever deity was listening and begged.

I don't want to die like this. I can't. Please, let me live this once.

The icy waters mercilessly slammed against my body like needles piercing everywhere. Water was swirling around me. As I sank deeper, the moonlight above my head disappeared. I could not flail my arms either since the ice-cold waters had rendered me almost paralyzed. Pure horror of my impending doom set in. I am dying.

Please. I begged one last time with the tiny consciousness onto which I was clinging. For the sake of everything I tolerated and went through, please just for once, save me.

I could not tell how long I prayed.

In all the panic, it eventually dawned on me that I was not drowning anymore. The waters were unexpectedly calm in contrast to the previously agitated state. Neither was the water rushing in through my nose nor was I feeling any water pressure now. 

Why am I still breathing? Panic gave way to disbelief as the icy water wrapped around me like a cocoon, holding me between terror and awe.

I was breathing underwater.

What?

Something felt strange, almost eerie. Am I dead?

My heart sank. I am dead.

Just then, the waters surrounding me lit up. Bright, blue waters.

Flowers?

With disbelief, I caught myself rotating and turning to witness what lay in front of my eyes. I am floating... in an underwater garden?

There were flowers of so many kinds and colors, that I could only guess that some may be roses, peonies, and tulips. It took a while before it hit me that I could even smell the different fragrances too. If I were not convinced that I was facing death at that moment, I would even say all of it was breathtakingly beautiful.

Shit. I must be dead already.

Panic overtook the momentary bewilderment.

I don't want to be dead. Where am I? Is this the afterlife or something? What do I do? What do I do?!

As if on cue, I noticed something glowing from the corner of my eye — it was a flower. A black tiger flower, to be precise. Why do I know that flower?

It was tucked away carefully between some other black flowers. Suddenly, it unfurled with unnatural grace, surging toward me before I could react. The searing pain in my chest was brief but unforgettable —like someone had twisted my insides in a full circle —leaving me gasping and trembling.

As pain radiated through my chest, a voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the water: “Then, live.” It wasn’t a command—it felt like a judgment.

In a wink, dark shadows drained back into the waters and my vision got blurry again. The garden disappeared. The force that was keeping me suspended in the waters vanished too. And I plummeted into a black chasm underneath. I only saw the fuzzy outlines of the bubbles from my shriek as I got swallowed by the darkness from all sides.