Short Story Collection

The Bridge

I awoke this morning to claps of thunder and whistling wind slapping my windows. Neither as pleasant as the chirps of songbirds I'm used to hearing. I pull the curtains aside slowly, but still the light burns my eyes. Blinded, I can just barely see my father's rusty red pickup truck driving away into the fog. I run out the door to chase him.

"Where could he possibly be going?"

Each step is more difficult as I struggle towards him. I'm running in water with anchors chained to my ankles. Coming out of the water to catch my breath, there's still an ocean in my eyes. I am alone and I've come to the conclusion that it's all I'll ever be. My mother and father separated when I was quite young, three years old; now I'm seventeen. Though I don't remember her much, the pain is still there. My dad is all I have.

Had.

I can't run anymore; my body hits the floor. With a few short breaths and a yell that sounds silent, I return to my feet and travel home. There's no hope for me; he just left, leaving a trail of rust and tire tracks. Now hope is nothing more than the dust resting on my windowsill and the mud splattered on my front door, even the house is leaving me, rotting at this very second.

"Charlie?" I shout. "Here, boy!" I yell, whistles and clapping hands follow. But Charlie's gone too.

"Why would he leave me alone like this? Am I that much of a burden?"

Tossing papers around throughout the house, flipping through pages in every individual book, opening every single cupboard or drawer, and throwing all of the clothes around, I attempt to find some sort of note, an "I'll be back soon", the tiniest glimmer of hope.

Nothing.

An hour passes before my eyes. Still no dad, still no Charlie. Once I step back outside, I realize the entire town is vacant; nothing but a cool, whirling breeze that smells like fear, empty cars terribly parked near empty buildings and the eerie creaking of tree branches. Like a lost puppy, I mope around looking for my father. I pass car after car until I reach the end of our town and find myself at a bridge leading to the next town. I've yet to see a single person, but a set of taillights catches my eyes. It doesn't seem too far, but the anchors are still tied to my ankles and I'm still underwater. It's hard to breath, it's hard to keep the ocean from pouring out of my eyes.

"Even if I do run after them, I won't catch up... Try anyways," my mind argues, but I don't. There's no point.

What seems like hours, months, maybe even years pass by, but still nothing changes. This town remains the same. Empty houses, rotting, waiting for their owners to return, cars beginning to rust, tires starting to sink into the mud, and windowsills collecting dust. There's no signs of life anywhere, the most I've seen is the set of red taillights and I don't even know how long ago that was. I've lost hope in searching for some sort of note, some sort of sign, something telling me what happened; I've accepted that there isn't anything. I'm alone and that's just the way it is. I need to cross that bridge; there's nothing here for me, no one's coming back.

Ice-cold wind whips my back and massages through my hair the very second I shove my front door open. It's colder than the last time I left, but it's still raining. The mud gathered at the bottom of my stairs and along the once dirt-covered streets are hard to tread through. My worn-out sneakers sink, making me slip every few seconds, but I know I can make it out. It'll just take time. The rain falling on my face covers up the tears rolling down from my eyes. Everything outside seems brighter and clearer the farther I travel. Skies are slowly turning more blue, the fog disappears and the mud closer to the bridge is nearly dry. I've never crossed this bridge before.

On the other side of the bridge life is better. Few clouds cover the sapphire skies and the sun shines so bright that the forest green grass appears to be white. The grass flows and sways as if each individual blade knew the dance routine that the sun had choreographed. An army of bluebirds sail above the grass, singing them a song to dance to. Butterflies flutter over gardens of wildflowers and squirrels scurry up to the high treetops. But something holds me back. When the sun's heat touches my face, I'll push open my front door and cross the bridge.