The Bridge

“There are two doors, always two. The one you know, and the one you don’t. I chose to open the latter, as much as it chose me.” 

-[Name Redacted], 1st volunteer, The Bridge Expedition, recovered tapes.  

A declaration. 

When the wormhole first appeared between earth and the moon’s orbit, the world’s greatest minds came together to debate its purpose. The pessimists warned of an invasion; this was just the first move by an advanced race to pillage our world for its resources. After all, Hawking himself postulated as much when pressed on extraterrestrial life. Why would an alien life capable of inter-dimensional travel bother coming to a backwater planet like ours...unless, of course, they wanted something from us. Water? Land? Cattle? 

So, the world waited for a war no one with even a single ounce of intelligence thought we could win. What would these being’s weapons resemble? How would it feel to be vaporized by a ray gun? Would they eat us with a fork and knife, or perhaps mash us up and drink us through straws? After a few months, people stopped asking those kinds of questions. The wormhole stood still in the space between two celestial rocks, never moving. Top experts in every conceivable scientific field could not detect anything from it—no radio waves, no lightwaves, not even a singular particle was found to pop out from the other side. So, it was agreed that this was no declaration of war. No, this was something else.

An invitation. 

The notion came from a scientist, Dr. Haruki Ito, who’d dedicated his days and nights to watching the wormhole. It had been weeks since he made the observatory at Fort Craft his home, and when he showed up to the United Council, it appeared as though the man had not showered nor shaved during his stay. Dr. Ito seemed to show no concern over his appearance. The man’s beard was a scraggly mess of white, wispy hair. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and a pair of sagging bags, the color of deep, starless space, sat below them. The doctor offered no greeting to the members of the room when he approached the podium.

“It’s a bridge,” he had said. “We’ve been invited to pass through.”  

A chorus of curious whispers grew in that room, my voice among the many.

“In a dream, I saw it, and it saw me,” He had looked pale upon retelling his experience. “ The wormhole itself has an awareness, a form of sentience we’ve never encountered. We spoke in a manner, and I asked for its name. The concept of ‘names’ seemed to confuse the being.” A few whispers in the crowd had turned to groans as many began to suspect the famed Dr. Ito was suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Perhaps something worse, but none put a voice to those darker thoughts. The good doctor, however, continued despite the miasma concern rising in the air. “Finally, it gave me something to call it: The Bridge.” 

“This is ridiculous,” a man had shouted from the crowd. “Dr. Ito clearly has lost a few, if not all, of his marbles. 

“Oh, if only that were true,” Dr. Ito replied. “However, my friends, The Bridge is genuine, and I wouldn’t be foolish enough to destroy my reputation without proof.”  

“Then, please, show us the proof from your dreams, Dr. Ito.” The same unnamed man replied. The room chuckled, though some of the laughter sounded forced. 

“I intend to,” Dr. Ito smiled meekly as though the proof was pain. “You see, The Bridge is a literal being, so its name is also its purpose, to create a passageway.” The doctor’s smile faded. “But like all bridges, one must pay a toll to pass safely.” Dr. Ito began to unbutton his shirt. “I volunteered to be the payment.” 

The crowd gasped as the doctor removed his shirt and revealed the price of the toll. In the center of his abdomen, there was a shimmering void. Its colors looked identical to The Bridge floating out in space. It was both beautiful and grotesque. In the room, someone threw up. Another cried tears of joy.  

“What is this madness?” A new voice asked.

“My end,” Dr. Ito replied. “But a new beginning for humanity.” 

The Doctor dropped to his knees, and the crowd erupted into chaos. Some shouted for a doctor. Others ran out in fear while the strongest stomachs stayed and watched, for the show was far from over. The hole in the center of Dr. Ito’s stomach began to grow. In seconds, his entire torso became a part of the shimmering void. Then his arms, followed by his legs, and just before it took the doctor’s head, he managed to deliver one final message through an agony-laden voice. 

“I am Prometheus,” only his mouth remained now, “behold my fire!”  

Dr. Ito was no more, and as we’d all find out in the minutes that followed, so too was The Bridge in-between our planet and the moon. But The Bridge had not disappeared. It simply moved. It now stood where the once-great Dr. Ito had said his goodbyes. The center of the chamber in the United Council had become its new home. What had once been a hovering wormhole as large as Texas was now the size of a perfectly rectangular door. In fact, it’s widely believed that The Bridge had chosen that shape based on the information it had gleaned from the mind of Dr. Ito. After all, what better way to offer an invitation than with an open door? 

The week that passed was pure and utter anarchy. Every nation wanted ownership over The Bridge, but non-dared approach its glowing form. After many heated debates and rising international tensions, the world leaders reached an amicable agreement—this door was a gift to all of humanity, not to one nation. 

The Bridge’s invitation would be accepted, together. 

What happened with Ito, however, scared a great many. So, when it came down to creating the team to make the first contact with The Bridge’s Makers, few raised their hands. I was the first to volunteer to journey through The Bridge. After another week, it turned out I was the only one to be brave—or stupid—enough to sign up for the mission. My identity grew too essential to release, so I became nameless. The first voyager through The Bridge would be a human and nothing else. 

Departure day arrived, and my courage was waning. A sense of dread filled the recesses of my head as I approached the shimmering door that called itself The Bridge. Whispers of a voice soon drowned out the fear. Or was it many voices at once? I could not decipher their words nor intent, but they felt both warm and cold. Reassuring and resentful. Right and wrong. How could that be possible? I asked myself, and The Bridge replied.

“Accept the invitation.” Its voice and voices ricocheted around my mind like candy-coated bullets. Pain and bliss. “Answers behind unopened doors remain riddles.” 

“Answers to what?” I replied.

“Questions.” The Bridge answered. 

I stared at the shimmering, warped doorway just a foot from my face. 

It stared back. 

I didn’t blink as I took the first step.