He's hunched over his laptop, fingers poised above the keys. His eyes aren't focused on the screen in front of him, though. He's lost in his mind; a dark, dreary place with one lone bridge that he trudges upon. The days crawl by as he walks, and there's no end in sight.

He could have chosen another path, another bridge, had he cared about his life when he was young.

He was raised in a stable family; his parents never divorced or separated, they were both well-paid, and he never had a brother or sister. His parents were very strict and did not know how to handle a child his age. He, of course, rebelled; dropping out of high school and causing trouble at any workplace he applied for. His parents loved him, perhaps a bit too much, and let him live with them even when he was in his thirties. They simply didn't attempt to force him into anything.

He eventually settled down and managed to find a job, but he hated every second of it. He'd never even attended college, and could not find any other jobs that would accept him. It was at this moment that he realized he'd burnt down all of his bridges, and he was stuck.

This man's 'bridges' were all of the paths he could have taken, if he had made the effort to get there. He had slowly been burning down each and every one, until finally, there was only one bridge left for him to follow.

Now he walks on this single, worn bridge. The ropes supporting it are weak, and they snap not long after he walks past them. He can't ever turn back, so he's forced to gaze at the fiery remnants of the other bridges, and through the eyes of his true body. They're like empty visions projected on the sky above him - colorless, soundless, and alien to him.

The man had watched as his friends drifted away, growing up and getting somewhere in their lives. He watched as his parents grew old and died, leaving him with just enough money to survive for two months. He watched as he spent the money on only food and bills, but still ran out.

His muscles grew weak, his bills piled up, he couldn't sleep at night or eat a full meal. Music, art, movies, and books all became meaningless to him.

The only thing he followed was his schedule: wake up in the morning, shower, attempt to eat, go to work, come home, and sleep.

This one day, when he's sitting at a cafe that plays soft music in the background, and has a generally cheery atmosphere, this day is his 50th birthday.

He had been fired just 30 minutes before. He tries to find the words for his last e-mail to the one friend who'd stayed with him, if not in person. He wants this e-mail to be his good-bye to the bridge he hates so much.

He can't find any words, so he types the story of his life. He types the story of the bridges, of the ashes.

He hopes they understand that he had given up a long time ago, but that their efforts were greatly appreciated and not in vain.