Bridges

The bridge is built from a single plank, thin and unstable. At one end, she stands, clutching the message to her chest: dinner is at six. Come if you want. If her cousins are on the opposite side, they’ll shake it until she falls. It has happened before. So far, they are not there. She lowers herself to the plank, and lets her legs dangle over it. She grips the sides, splinter digs into her palm, and slowly, she inches across. The bridge beneath her bum begins to tremble.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.