The Bridge

Hello all, and good day. I should have stated this at the beginning, but I did not because I’m still learning this blogging thing. I will post on my site between Thursday and Sunday of every week, if I cannot for some reason, I’ll be sure to let everyone know. The story below is my very first short story I ever wrote in my journal when I began keeping one eight years ago. Nothing in it has been changed except a word or two. Now, I’ve hundreds of short stories and poems collected there.

I also would like to stress, that no matter what, if you love to do something, do it everyday, practice makes better. Like even if no one followed my blog or commented or liked, I’d still post because it’s something I enjoy. And one day, I know my website will be full of fans. The story is below.

The sun beats down on my face as I stare out at the unforgivable Pacific Ocean. My father maneuvers our Bentley around a cruising Mustang, its engine sounding like the perfect roar from a king lion. My mother sits in the passenger seat beside him, doing a crossword, and my little, baby brother, Graham, sleeps, a soft snore protruding from his slim lips. He has a slight smile on his little face. I frown. At least he’s okay with this, I, for one, am not. I hate bridges, and I despise heights. A bridge is both in one. So many disastrous scenarios can take place upon a bridge!

The only thing keeping me from screaming at my father to stop the hurtling car is the golden, yellow, glistening sun. My attention span is short, and my mind, unfortunately, turns to the dark side. My over-imaginative mind sends flickering images across my closed eyelids. I try to get rid of them, but the images just won’t abide. I see the oil truck we’re behind smash into the railing on the right side of the bridge, unwillingly sliding over the edge, an explosion of water bolting skyward as the fat truck impacts with the sea, the dark waters swallowing the behemoth vehicle incredibly fast. My father swerves, but I black out before anything else transpires. I open my eyes, my chest heaving heavily in and out.

Just a dream.

I pick up my notepad lying on the car floor and began to scribble down some words popping into my head. A screech of tires distracts me. I look forward, my eyes wide in alarm as cracks start to form on the bridge ahead. As the oil truck drives over the crevices, the whole bridge collapses, cinder and concrete battering the ocean. My father slams his foot on the brake, our Bentley comes to an ear-splitting halt just as we’re about to fall off. Half of the car is hanging over a white mass of waves. The other half is on the crumpled bridge. None of us move. Graham is awake, startled, confused. I close my eyes, praying. A quiet, suspenseful minute passes, and then we tip over the edge, our screams stuck inside our vehicle. The car plunders into the ocean. We immediately start to sink. The cold water completely engulfs us. I grab my brother’s hand as my eyes refuse to stay shut any longer. He is still hanging on. My lungs began to ache, I smile at him, he smiles back, and then I let the life slide out of me.

I wake, my lungs searing in pain, my heart pummeling against my rib cage, threatening to break through. I glance around crazily.

It was a dream? When did I fall asleep?

Graham laughs at me, and my father peers back through the mirror with a concerned look on his face. My mother pays me no mind at all, for she is consumed in her crossword. I laugh to myself, deciding that I shouldn’t even dwell on my bad thoughts and dreams.