The Bridge

I’ve stopped on the bridge, my old self behind me and God in front of me. He keeps calling my name, but I’m too caught up with thoughts of what I’m leaving behind.

There are people all around me; some hold my hand while others whisper into my ear to look ahead and to see where God’s calling me. I stare at my father right there in front of me and I want to be where he is.

I feel as though I’m moving, but I seem to be going nowhere.

Then I hear it; they’re different voices from the gentle whispers in my ear. They seem to yell and it hurts my ears as the whispers seem to die away.

I pull away from the hands holding me, I cover my ears and, worst of all, I look away from my saviour on the other side. I crouch down trying to block out the overwhelming sound that seems to take over.

I look down and see people beside the bridge. There are no smiles on their faces. Some sport smirks while others seem to be angry. Their voices take over me.

I’m stuck in the middle of the bridge.