Mum had always said not to go beyond the bridge.
Walk anywhere we wanted but don’t cross the bridge.
When we asked her why she’d say there were something’s better not known and certainly not explained.
So we grew up with that thought, and that mystery.
Years later I did venture across the bridge and on the other side was pretty much the some as was on the side I’d come from.
There was a difference, a subtle difference. Where the landscape on our side was flat across the bridge the landscape sloped down, and the further you went the steeper it got until eventually you realised if you kept going there would be no way back as the terrain grew more and more impassable.
It was nightmarish, as I soon found myself clinging to the sides to stop myself sliding uncontrollably into some abyss I was growing more and more terrified of.
Eventually there was a flat section where I could rest and a sign asking if I wanted to go on or return to the top. It was like a last change situation.
I decided to go back, it was a slow climb, treacherous, but not as long as I initially imagined.
Back at the bridge I now understood mum’s warning.
Written for: https://scvincent.com/2020/05/21/thursday-photo-prompt-painted-writephoto/