Abyss

   Jake stood at the precipice. Before him yawned the abyss, that threatening gulf made up of everything, ranging from childhood fears from under the bed to modern paranoia. Behind him, the world was burning.
    His ears were ringing.
    Jake remembered what his father told him, once: "There comes a time when you have to stop running and decided what to do with yourself." The advice, he felt, was strong.

   And yet he was not; he felt fear for the unknown that was in front of him. Things dwelt in the darkness of the abyss: nasty, shapeless things, fluid things that could assume terrible forms. All he wanted was to be home and sleep, safely, warmly, in his own bed.
    "There comes a time, son," said the ghost of his father, echoing in memory. "When you have to stop running and face the world."
    Jake sighed. The stench of burning things was heavy behind him. He recognized the particular smell of burning hair.
    "There comes a time, so--"
    "I'm going."
    His world burning behind him, Jake took the step into a newer one.