April 17th 1937
I hear a sudden knock on the door. In the middle of writing, I stop and run to the door. The man in the nice jacket says "Henry Laffion, has tragically died in a building incident of yer golden gate Miss Inez Laffion."He says with a scotish accent. I say slowly and in disbelief "Oh thank you for your time sir." I shut the door slowly. Falling on the ground crying, my dear Henry is gone. All hope was lost that day. My heart dropped to my stomach and I stare at my notebook emotionless. Then I get a phone call, I was to heart broken to pick it up.
I answer the phone and say joyfully "Miss Laffion at your service." My co worker Penelope says "I'm so sorry for your lo..." I hang up before she can finish. I finish on the article of the tragic incident of the Golden Gate Bridge. I wipe one tear from my eye so it doesn't smear the ink on the page. Its funny how in the day of age people are heartless monsters. A person can fall off a cliff and they'd still go about there day consuming coffee and scones. But I can't change anything I'm just a women with a notebook and a pen. There not going to listen to me or else they'll put me in the loony bin with John and Susanne. They got put there because they told the truth.
If you say the truth they'll lock you away because people only consume lies with a side of coffee. But what do I know right? I'm just a women. All are jobs is to do is sit there and look pretty. But not me, not tomorrow, and not ever. I wish I could knock some sense into the reporters of America. Hope someone will, some day. Henry was good man. He was good friends with Strauss so he decide to help. He always had dreams about good ole golden gate. But too bad he didn't live to see it. I walk to the coffee shop two blocks down from the airport. Some women was whining about a stupid news paper.
"One order of a blueberry stone, with a latte with 10 sugars." The waitress says. "Thank you ma'am." I smile and grab my order. "Hey sorry for your l..." I walk away before she finishes her sentence. I head over to the table next to the window, I like seeing the view from here. Planes taking off, people boarding buses, and normal stuff in San Francisco.
Not as normal when Henry was here, but I guess I'll have to find someway...somehow to cope with the lost of my husband....
To be continued.....
YOU ARE READING
My London Bridges Have Truly Fallen
Historical FictionA girl that is a journalist/reporter for the building of the Golden Gate Bridge, her fiance dies in the incident of the 12 workers dying in 1937, 1 week after there wedding. The only way to carry on his memory is to write about the Golden Gate Bridg...
