The Dark Tower

I

I need to steel myself for what is ahead. Sometimes, as the shadows creep in I feel that all my actions are futile, but I must continue.

It's not like I ever had a choice.

9 years later...

I gazed into the deep mist, trying to see past the heavy veil. However, my strained eyes couldn't pierce the thick smog, so I took a few tentative steps forward.

To my great surprise, I discovered I stood on the edge of a sandstone cliff. Below the perilous ledge lay a rocky, desolate plain, devoid of all life. Shiny bits of pale matter littered the field that gave it a ghastly appearance. The very epitome of a wasteland, empty and barren. At the very end of the foreboding expanse lay a colossal, dark tower. The Dark Tower. Despite the dusty environment, the black spire was completely shiny and forged of clean metal. The material was known as Darksteel, and even small amounts of the ore required a blood sacrifice. I shuddered at the thought of the creation of that massive vile spire that darkened the horizon. I found myself toying with the pommel of my sword and chewing my lip anxiously. I ceased immediately, not wanting any mouth sores. Before I had any more time to worry myself, I hopped off the bluff, sable cloak flapping behind me like leathery wings. I landed on something brittle, and it snapped under my weight. Looking down, I saw that it was a bone. A human skull.

I backpedaled quiclky, almost tripping myself on my cloak in my haste. I looked forward, and since I was closer I saw past the white fog. There were bones everywhere, and they littered the whole field. Most were human bones—or human sized—but there were a few exceptions. A massive, half buried ribcage loomed over to my left, shadows creeping ever so slowly. While I was paying attention to the dry remains of a mighty creature, I was oblivious to the ground. I stumbled on something. My arms pinwheeled instinctively, flailing to keep me from tumbling to the ground. Just then I realized what I had tripped on—a human femur bone. Despite that it was bleached white like the rest of the remains in the boneyard, it still made my stomach churn and bile come to my throat. I swallowed the foul substance, retching.

This place gives me the creeps, I thought. I wonder who's—or what's— ribcage that was. Better get moving.

§

I took the final step, then collapsed in exhaustion. It had taken me the whole day to cross the boneyard, jumping at every shadow. I rested behind a large boulder, hidden from the tower. However, my trek was very visible, so it didn't matter. I just wanted something to lean on. My satchel and belt felt like lead, and my eyelids drooped quaintly. The forced march had taken a lot out of me, depleting my reserves of energy. I couldn't sleep, though. I'd be doomed once I lay down to rest, so I simply dumped the lukewarm contents of my canteen on my dusty face. It felt good, forging paths of clean skin amongst the grime flung by the incessant breeze. I also loosened my blade in its scabbard, hilt comfortable in my hand. I had a feeling I was going to need it in the near future.

After a measly half dozen minutes I continued on, arriving at a rickety footbridge fashioned of bones, wood, and unknown matter.

"By the soul of Ceritius," I muttered vaguely "Why is there this... this?" If you don't know, I'm not terribly fond of heights. Here, the unstable construct was the only path between the tower and I. Great.

I took a bold step forward, my weight causing the frail ropes to creak dangerously. My fingers quivered as they fingered the tough skeins of rope. Even the termites had given up on the planks, they were too far gone.

Just don't look down, I told myself. Nevertheless, I glanced over into the terrifying fissure, gazing into its unfathomable depths.

The ropes creaked dangerously, fraying points visible on the edges. The wooden planks on the floor were on the verge of collapsing, and they were probably rotting-there were quite a few squishy black patches. I advanced once again, closing my eyes. Despite this precaution to ward off my fear, the frail, twisting ropes made slight snapping sounds and a rotten patch in the wood gave in to my weight. I had no delusions on the fact the bridge was going to break, but I simply pondered when—and which part of it—was going first. I opened my eyes, for shuttered, they would be useless, and made a mad, desperate dash towards the evil spire in order to gain as much distance as possible so I could jump. Breathing in the smell of decay, I sprinted forwards. Eventually, about two thirds of the way, a blackened plank gave way and my foot plunged in the crater. I cursed violently, hastily grabbing hold of the frayed rope above. Unfortunately, the rope wasn't meant to support the full weight of a human being. The frayed twine snapped like a chicken's wishbone and I plunged into the crevasse, screaming the screams of a condemned man.