Otto Tannenbaum stood before a swelling hole in the iridescent sky which hovered above a desert swarming with the desperate vestiges of mankind. Beneath these heaving dunes of flesh, not a grain of sand was visible.
Otto raised a foot. The desert held its breath. The foot that bore the weight of the world breached the threshhold of the rift. Otto glanced back, flashed a tenuous grin. His foot was gone where no man (presumably) had yet, and he was still breathing.
Then the rift gulped him down like tossing back a shot, smacked its lips and sealed them tightly.
Otto and his so-called "Bridge" were both gone. The shepherd had deserted his flock and the sheep went wild.
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