"Broken," mumbled the Child and then shouted, "It's broken!"
"What's broken, Child?" asked The Prophet.
The child, looking at the pictures being flashed below her, sat down on the ocean in shock.
"The bridge," she answered. "The bridge is broken."
"What wrong with it?" The Prophet asked.
"There is no railing; there're large potholes and miles of rocks that make it impossible to go over. It's strange, and I can't see where the bridge begins nor do I see where it ends."
The Prophet chuckled; the ocean shook, and anger overcame the Child.
"What's so funny, Prophet? Why are you laughing at me?" The Child screamed.
"What did you expect, Child? With the bridge, I mean."
"That bridge led to where I once was. What if I wanted to go back?" The Child shouted.
"You can't go back over that bridge, Child."
"It's not possible."
"Why not? I'd love to go back and be with all my old friends, and be normal."
"You've forgotten one important thing, Child."
"No, I haven't. You're trying to confuse me."
The Prophet chuckled again at her unwillingness to see the consequences of the choice she'd made.
"My dear Child, you're not normal anymore." the Prophet said, "That bridge deteriorates every time you metamorphose into becoming what you're supposed to be."
"You mean I am destroying the bridge by accepting change?" The Child asked.
"Of course, you are. Your journey lies ahead; the bridge lies behind you. The more you evolve into your true being, the more the bridge corrodes into nothing.
"Does that mean I can't go back because the bridge is no longer there?"
"It means you can't go back, because you are no longer the same."