Bridge to Nowhere(rachel) Walking along the ancient train-tracks, now covered in rust and leaves, a fog rolled in. My tan coloured fake leather trench coat did not put up any resistance to the cold that crept in. I came to a solid bridge, old and forgotten but still strong. Shadows and spirits lingered on every plank. A broken sign choked by vines said: “Bridge to Nowhere”. Just the word I wanted to hear. Nowhere. A sort of, legend, grew from this place. A haunted legend. All who travelled here never returned. Thus the name. A stone wall prevented prying eyes to see the other side, but a heavy wooden door that had been cracked open just enough allowed people to squeeze through, and the only passage to it was the bridge. However, myth had no idea what was on the other side. Stepping onto the bridge, it groaned, as if an old oak had awakened from its slumber. Each step produced a new creak, a new sound. Looking over the edge, a riverbed laid dried and thirsty. Aged beer bottles, cigarettes and plastic dolls littered the once polished stones. The face of my beloved flashed before me. Words came from silent lips.

“Make a wish!” Then, it was gone.

“When did it go wrong?” I asked myself. I grabbed the railing and fell to my knees, screaming and yelling in pain. Such pain! I thought of how lovely it would be if there was another skull to decorate the bed further. Spotting some jagged rocks, sharp as daggers, the idea became solid in my head. Before I knew it, I was standing tall on top of the rail. My mind froze as I launched myself as far as I could. As I plummeted, an almost evil smile crept across my face, that was not of my doing. Finally, silence took me, and darkness became reality.

Ah, such a sorrowful tale. If only the poor soul had seen the other side of the riverbed. Corpses carpeted its ground. Perhaps it would have been motive enough for the person to complete their journey. Because, alas, someone has yet to see the other side of the Bridge to Nowhere.

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