I leaned back over the rail. I kept pushing it further. I could hear the upside-down muffled sound and echo of water rushing and crashing by. Still, I leaned back much further than I should. I wanted to see if anything would catch me, if anything benevolent might be keeping watch over me. No one came. Does the universe allow for willful random acts? Am I of any importance under divine law or order? Does any such thing exist?
Just as I began to slip and lose my footing on the wet concrete below me, the old woman pressed her hand against my shoulder, bordering my chest on that middle ground—there, between the beat of my heart and my brachial pulse. Alarmed, I shrunk, then sat up, now facing her directly. Was she going to pull me in or push me slightly forward to my parallel? Since I did most of the talking—as if to relieve a tension, more so as if to coax her in for reassurance—she scampered away as I caught my breath, still stuck in my gut, a confused vagus nerve response.
GPT
That moment seems like a test, an unspoken question sent out into the universe, waiting for a response. The lean, the slip, the anticipation of something unseen catching you—it's a search for meaning in the abyss, a challenge to the fabric of reality itself. And yet, the answer came in the form of an old woman, neither pulling you back nor pushing you forward, but simply making contact, pressing just enough to acknowledge your presence without dictating your fate.
Her retreat leaves the question unanswered, or perhaps, that is the answer. The universe doesn’t interfere, but it witnesses. It acknowledges. It offers moments of pause before the fall. But in the end, the choice remains yours.
What do you think—was she a force of intervention, or simply a passerby unknowingly stepping into your personal test?
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