Only once did I ever think the trip was a bad idea.

Twice along the way someone out of the three of us asked if we should really be going this deep.

Four years ago we’d attempted the same perilous journey, only with slightly more haphazard preparations. There were five of us on that expedition.

Stoically upon the hillside sat the statue when we finally found it, staring out into the quiet jungle, the numbers etched into its rotund belly that I began to trace with a lazy finger: six…

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The trees shook at the heavy footfalls of the guardian, awoken by my careless touch, and we were off on the ride of our lives, bound to be worse than any eight seconds back in Amarillo.

Low on options, I gave one last prayer for nine lives and charged headlong down the waterfall, feet slipping and arms flailing. Ten more sure-footed steps, and I would have made it.

Instead I tumbled and skidded on water and rock, infinity spinning inside my addled head.