"Time is running out."
 



Just sixty seconds ago, I'd seen him standing there: a silhouette on the snowline, a solid, dark image impressed on my mind. When he vanished, I blinked, sure that the rising sun was playing teasing tricks with my eyes.


I stared until my eyes watered, until everything had blurred and lost focus. I had to get over there, and fast. He was vulnerable here, not experienced enough to know where to tread, or what to do if . . .


Well, if the unanswerable happened. It would steal his breath and soul from him. What would be left, then?


Breathing heavily in the high altitude, I reached the point where I'd last seen him, and knew with certainty that he wouldn't be coming back. I saw him falling, his body stretching, human spaghetti. 


Someone needed to alert the authorities about this pesky new wormhole. But it wouldn't be me. I had strayed too close, and now I was f a l  l  i  n  g     t    o     o.


[160 words] 



Read the stories written by other Friday Fictioneers on Madison's website. 


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