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Pulled From the Edge

I see the void.
Swirling blackness.
A sweet voice calls from the velvet depths:
"Come to us. Enter the Pit of Despair."
I see figures, now, in gossamer robes of black, in the Pit.
"Sleep the Eternal Sleep with us," they say.

The knifes edge gleams.
"Yes," they cry.
I see the blade as in a dream.

I see the land around the pit.
Desolate. Empty. Worthless.
These are the Lands of Life.
Nothing here. Joyless lands.
Nothing for me here.

I look into the Pit again.
The end of all my troubles.
The end of all my fears.

The knife drifts closer.
My heart pounds in anticipation.
Or is it fear?
I look one last time at the Lands of Life.
Figures in white appear.
I recognize them. They are my friends.
Their faces beseech me. Their voices call me.
My resolve slips.
The knife moves away.
I move to my friends and they embrace me.
The have pulled me from the edge of the Pit.
The knife returns to the drawer.

All is well.