Each step is pitted and worn, all but ready to crumble into dust on contact. Even so, they somehow continue to support my weight as I descend.

A bit of stone breaks off the next stair I step on -- another chip in the edge, another fraction of an inch closer to oblivion. The rock fragment goes clattering down the stairs ahead of me, into the darkness. I can't see the bottom.

I haven't come that far yet. If I turn around, I should still be able to see the light at the top of the stairwell.

But I'm afraid to look back. I keep going.

Down, down and farther down I go. It should be too dark to see anything by now, but it isn't. The stairs ahead are cloaked in impenetrable shadow and the entrance is far behind me now, but still I have enough light to see for a few feet around.

Do these stairs ever end?

Another pebble breaks off under my foot and goes pattering down ahead of me, bouncing irregularly. If I tripped and fell, would there ever be an end to my fall? Or would there just be endless stairs, each one breaking my body a little more, even as my passing wore down the ragged edges of the stone a little further? Would I reach that darkness, or fall forever through this twilight?

I stop. I can't walk any more. There is no end to these stairs, at least none that I can get to.

Slumping down on the last step I reached, I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. How much time passes before I open my eyes again? How much time has passed since I left the light behind at the top of the stairs?

It's dark when I open my eyes. The shadows are wrapped around me like warm blankets, and I can no longer feel the steps beneath me.