You find yourself standing on the edge of a void, faced with a choice. In one direction, you see a beautiful world. The sun shines brightly during the day and the moon lights up the night. Roses grow in fields, oceans lap gently at a golden shore, and music resonates throughout the air. This world is at peace.

In the other direction, you see a dreadful place. The sun is a red disk in the sky, its light burning and painful to the eyes. The moon does not shine, for it is covered by a haze of smoke and ash. The ground is flooded, and everything is dark and miserable.

Between the two is a bridge. It is narrow and fragile, easily breakable. Yet it is your only way across.

You don't know how long you've been standing there. Days? Weeks? It doesn't matter. No one comes. No one leaves. You are stuck in the void between the worlds.

Now the sun is coming up. The red disk in the sky spreads its heat across your back, for what feels like the umpteenth day in a row. You find yourself hyper-aware of your body's weakness, and you slowly—painfully slowly—advance forward. You place your hands upon the bridge's rail, trying to focus on the awful beauty before you.

In the distance, you see a figure. He—or is it she?—calls out to you. It's hard to tell from this far away... but the figure waves.

You take another step. The bridge creaks. You can feel the bridge swaying from side to side. You can hear the wind blowing, howling desperately.

"--! ---- ---- ------!" The figure calls out. You can't make out the words. Suddenly, a bolt of lightening flashes across the sky. The world is plunged into darkness. Yet you can still see that the figure continues to wave at you.

There's no time. You don't know if the bridge will hold your weight, or if you can make it to the other side. You only know that if you don't get to the other side, you'll fall into the darkness. You won't survive.

To the other side... or fall into the darkness...

You grab onto the rail with all your strength. Something holds you back.

"--- -------!" You hear another voice. This one's coming from... behind? You turn around. You see her. A beautiful woman in a white dress. Her long golden hair falls down past her waist. Her eyes are the softest blue, and her skin seems to be a perfect ivory. She stares at you intently. There's an urgent look in her eyes as she opens her mouth and calls out, but the wind swallows up her words. You don't understand what she means.

And yet, you don't need to hear her to understand her. You see her meaning in her eyes, you see it in her face, you see it in her body language. You feel it in your heart. She wants you to cross.

She's calling to you, imploring you, pleading with you…

"..."

You stare at her in silence, the moment stretching out interminably. You feel the harsh sunlight on your face. The wind blows more strongly through the bridge. Finally, you make your decision. You turn with one last longing look at the beautiful woman in white. She smiles.

Then, you run.

You run as fast as you can, and your legs carry you across the bridge. It starts to fall apart. You watch as the supports snap and fall apart under your feet. You ignore the danger, and keep running.

You can see the other side now. If you make it, you'll be safe. If you don't, you'll die.

You sprint towards the other side. Your heart beats deafeningly; your lungs are on fire. You feel the bridge shuddering under your feet. Planks start to break off. The other figure grows larger as you close the gap.

... she's approaching!

Another plank comes loose. The bridge starts to fall into the abyss. You leap.

The other figure reaches out to you...

You slowly open your eyes. You're resting your head against a wooden surface. You feel yourself gently swaying. The sound of of lapping water fills your ears, and you realize you're on a boat. The harsh rays of the sun fall on the broad-brimmed hat covering your face. Lowering it, you focus your eyes.

You see a broad back. A man sits at the prow of the boat. He holds a fishing rod in his large, calloused hands. He wears a plain country hat and tan breeches with leather boots. A long-sleeved plaid shirt covers his barrel-like chest. The boat gently rocks back and forth as he gazes expressionlessly at the sparkling waters of the lake.

"...Dad?" you utter tentatively.

The man turns his head slightly, but doesn't say anything. The sun glints on the side of his fishing rod as it reposes on the gunwale. You see a strong profile, with a straight nose and strong jaw. His hair and eyes are dark.

"So, you're finally awake," he says, his eyes still fixed on the waters.

"How long was I asleep for?" you ask, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

"Two hours," your father replies.

You stand carefully in the little boat and look out over the water. It's as clear as glass, and the reflection of the sky is mirrored perfectly in it. You watch as a large fish jumps. Your father slowly draws his line in again, and you turn to look at him.

He's sitting casually, head slightly bowed, a strong hand steady and sure on the tiller. His dark eyes flicker to you, then look ahead.

"Did you catch anything?"

He motions wordlessly to the catch at his side—a little more than half a dozen fish, most of them pike.

"Can I try?" you ask at length, still looking over the edge of the boat into the lake's shimmering depths.

He looks at you for a second, before nodding. He makes room for you as you assume his position in front of the fishing rod. You slowly reel in the line. Your father watches as you take the hook out of the water, then examine the bait. You look up at him, holding the hook in front of you.

"Should I rebait it?" you ask.

"Do what seems best to you," he replies.

You select a different bait, then carefully line the hook up. You remember what Joey told you at school, that when his uncle took him and his cousin Sam fishing, Sam threw the line back and it ended up in his uncle's face, blinding him in his right eye. Suddenly, the image of your father clutching his face as blood pours down his cheek flashes into your mind. You imagine him not uttering a word, simply unhooking the hook from his eye and fixing you with a glower with his remaining good eye, more upset by your incompetence than the pain.

You pause, lowering the rod, avoiding your father's gaze, your throat tight.

"What's wrong?" he asks, a frown creasing his eyebrows.

"Nothing," you reply.

"Go on then," he says.

You take a deep breath and raise the line up and behind yourself, casting it forward with a practiced flick of the wrist. You hear a satisfying thump as the line hits the water. You lean back, gently inclining the line to pull the lure through the water with a wobble. You and your father both look out at the dazzlingly clear water, watching as the lure drifts along the lake's glass-smooth surface. You both wait.

As you stare out across the lake, you wonder about your father. You know so little of him. He does not speak about his past. He's a soldier through and through, that's all you know. You used to ask him about his job, just to learn more about him, but he never spoke of it. He always gave you a non-committal answer, so eventually you stopped asking.

You do know he spent twenty years in the army, and that he retired only a few years ago. Twenty years sounds like a lifetime to you, but he just fixed you with a stare when you asked how old he was. He told you to stop asking questions. You can only guess that he's older than your mother, but not by too much. You just should ask your mother how old he is, you realize—she'll be willing to tell you.

You vaguely remember hearing about how your parents met from your mother, but you've forgotten the details by now. You're not sure how to feel about your parent's marriage. You know that your mother loves him, so it can't be too bad, but it seems to you that they have trouble relating to one another. Your father has a wedding ring, but he doesn't wear it on his finger. He keeps it in a little metal box, always. You're not sure why.

You look over at your father, who is staring out at the water. You wonder if he has any regrets, any thoughts that he would do things differently. Would he still have married your mother, if he had known how things would turn out? Thinking about it makes you feel a little awkward. You don't know what he thinks about your mother, or you, for that matter.

You can't think of anything to say, so you just sit in silence alongside your father, and watch the lure float along the water.

You stare out at the lake. The sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in an orange and purple hue. It is a beautiful sight. Above, geese fly in a perfect formation, as if they were a single creature. They are elegant, even majestic as they migrate north. The rays of the setting sun cast a fiery glow over their bodies, making them look as if they're alight.

You can imagine yourself as one of the birds, flying north to cooler climes. You can almost see yourself flying over the lake, over the pine trees, and up into the fading daylight as the moon and stars emerge.

Your little boat sways in the water. Your father's profile is sharp and angular compared to the rounded nature of the boat. In the waning light of day, his short-cropped hair assumes a ruddy tinge that makes you think of the boat's red paint. He turns to face you, his brown eyes speckled with flecks of gold lent by the reflection of the half-drowned sun.

"We're going back."

While your father activates the motor and the small craft speeds its way back to land, you watch as the sun paints the horizon red—then orange—then purple gold. The entire sky seems to pulse with the last remnants of light. Your father keeps his eyes trained on the fast-approaching shoreline. The motor putters to a halt as it glides to its destination. Moments before arriving, you dip a hand into the cool water of the lake. You feel a strand of algae against your wrist. You pull your hand out, and the boat comes to a stop. As you turn to gather your things, you look up and meet your father's eyes.

"Did you enjoy yourself today, Ely?"

"Yes, Father."

He nods; and with that, turns and walks toward the camp site. After a moment's pause, you follow.

The sun has set, but a faint pink light still shows over the horizon, fighting a losing battle against the dark. As you peer ahead, you can see a figure waiting by the firepit. Flames are merrily dancing, and the smoke twists and turns lazily up toward the sky. Catching sight of you both, the figure waves. You automatically wave back, preparing yourself for the inevitable outpouring of affection. True to your expectations, your mother opens her arms wide, embracing you tightly, her face aglow with a joyous smile as your father looks on with a stoic expression.

"Finally back! You too must have had a great time! Not too sunburnt?" she asks, disengaging from you to appraise your face in the glow of the campfire. You dip your chin in a nod.

"Good. Now, how many fish did my brave fisherman catch?"

"I didn't get any. It was Dad who..."

"Aww! Well, I hope you're not too broken up about it, sweetie!"

"I'm fine."

Your mother smiles warmly, ruffling your hair. "I'm sure it wasn't easy for you. I'll admit, part of me would've liked to join you, but..." She trails off, looking at your father. "...father-son bonding time is important."

You nod solemnly, looking down at your feet. Your father takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He walks towards your parents' tent and ducks in for his customary period of isolation before dinner. You look at your mother, who is still smiling.

"I'm glad you both enjoyed yourselves," she says.

You nod again, silent. Your eyes widen as she throws her arms around you again. "M-Mom...?"

"I know things can be difficult with your father," she whispers in your ear. "Thank you for trying. I love you."

"I love you too, Mom," you say mechanically.

Your mother strokes your hair. "I really did miss you...dear sir."

Your brow creases. Dear... sir? Standing by the fire's crazily bucking flames, like a shaman performing a dance older than time, you look up at your mother's face as shadows play across it. She...looks different. Her spectacles are gone. Her pale brown eyes are a vivid, heavenly blue; her eyelashes are long and her curly brown hair has turned to shimmering gold. This... isn't your mother. But, for some reason, you feel... well, comfortable with her.

"Mom..." you croak. It comes out as more of a question than a statement. The woman's arms tighten around you. You feel a wave of sadness rising within you. You... don't want to let her go.

"I love you, my son," she whispers, smiling gently. You stand very still. Her name... her name is on the tip of your tongue...

You hear a heavy footstep. You turn your head. Your father's returned. But, when you raise your eyes to his face, you see...

Your own.

You stand there, dumbstruck. Before you stands your perfect doppelganger: the same dark eyes, the same chiseled facial features, the same reddish brown hair. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

"It's okay, dear sir," the woman whispers fiercely into your ear. "I'll protect you."

The man takes a step forward. You tremble.

"Be brave, dear sir! You're safe!"

You swallow convulsively. Your eyes shoot wide open as the woman's name flashes across your mind. It's her. It has to be her!

"A—!"