A suicidal Thomas Scanlen scrapes a bit more rock from the initials he works into the soft moss covered stone. Next to his giant T.S. is an ancient bit of writing that could be Latin and next to it a bit of Celt.
Satisfied he turns and faces the roar of water behind him. They say it goes down forever, that there is no bottom, that time stops inside the vortices of cold grey water. None who have jumped in have ever come back, no clues, only rumors of a different place.
With nothing left Thomas dives in.
Immediately he is forced into a fast moving swirl of water, his lungs burn for air and death reaches out a cold skeletal hand to pull him into the abyss.
With the last possible moment of life remaining he flies through a surface of barren rock and lands with a painful plop.
He turns over and sees a million rocky chunks in place of a moon dotting an upper atmosphere on fire.
Different? yes. Better? No.