The scene is beautiful. To the untrained eye it may have seemed just like an ordinary bridge. But to me it looked like the perfect spot to lay my scene.
The bridge was made from old metals, gleaming grey underneath the chipped green and red paint. Intricate beams of twisted iron straining under the weight of the wooden walkway and metal rails. From my position beneath the great structure I can see the wood has been worn from years of use and bolts slowly working their way out of their place where they were put long ago. The river is just to my left. It’s roaring speed odd for this time of year. The water quickly working its way along its path, then around a bend so I can no longer see.
I walk up the steep hill from the water’s edge. Slipping on the damp grass from today’s spitting rain. Tall, ancient oak trees line the cobblestone street on the edge of the bridge. Planted long before man built the city around them.
The wood creaks beneath my weight, splinters worming their way into my bear feat as I walk the bridge. I stand in the middle looking out at the river beneath. The moon is full in the sky. Shining a light of blue and grey upon me. I close my eyes and raise my face the skies above. Drinking in the mystic light and letting the cool breeze wash my thoughts.
I open my eyes when I start to shiver in the breeze. For how long I stood there I do not know. My hands have gone blue where they clutch the iron railing and my breath comes out in small clouds of mist. I pull my thin coat closer around me and fold my hands against my body.
This really is a beautiful place, I think. The bridge. The trees. The city lights in the distance. The water.
I sigh, thinking of all the time I had visited here as a child. Mother would bring me here every Saturday. We would walk across the bridge and throw crumbs to the ducks that floated on the water. But that was years ago. When the ducks still visited this place. When I had someone to throw crumbs with.
I kneel against the hard wood. Putting my head against the cold railing. This really is the perfect setting for my scene.
I straighten my legs, coming to a full stand. I lean over the railing, letting the breeze push my hair back into my face. I keep leaning. Letting my body start to tip over. When my feet inch off the ground I stop leaning. Letting myself balance on my stomach. Letting gravity take my life into its hands.
A wind picks up and blows me back onto the bridge. It hits me with such force that I fall onto the wooden planks. I smirk up to the sky and watch the stars twinkle and the moon dance.
Okay world, I think¸ not today.
I stand and slowly make my way from the bridge. I smirk the whole walk home through the city. Looking for more beautiful settings.