She was walking along the path of her life, so calmly, so quietly, unaware that someone could disrupt it. And then it happened. Someone grabbed her hand, it clamped onto it and she couldn't pull away. It was decrepit with blue-gray veins, wrinkled and liver-spotted. The hold was not strong but she could not pull away. And at that moment, staring at the hand, she saw her path distort and change. And the light at the end of the path died. Everything darkened as the hand pulled her away from the path, pulling her down down, away from the path. It went on, the path went on and left her behind.

She didn't want the life on this other path. It wasn't hers. But it was the one passed on to her. The hand was not just clamping down on her hand, but it was strangling the path, the light, her life. And then, just like that, it let go. And her vision cleared, she was back on the path again. But as she went on, she looked behind and saw the hand, raised up, weak and helpless, asking for help.