Microfiction: Bridge

Getting my Friday Fictioneers piece in while I feel in tune with the gloomy picture.

Photo © C.E. Ayr

ceayr3

“That’s it,” he said. “The way out.”

If we could climb up to the old footbridge, we could get out beyond the marshalling yards, he’d said. It had never been repaired after the bombing.

“Okay,” I said, willing to follow any plan, clutch at any straw however fragile. “Let’s go. Just tell me, when we get to the end of the bridge, we’ll be safe, won’t we?”

“It’s the edge of the city. No man’s land,” he said.

“But beyond, there’s green stuff and no soldiers, no looters, gangs, no guns?”

He stared down at his hands. “I don’t know.”

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

40 thoughts on “Microfiction: Bridge”

  1. The uncertainty of moving forward…how very true. It’s the “unknown” that keeps many trapped in situations that they could escape from… being afraid of what lies beyond the “cage” of their current situation. Well written and thought provoking, indeed! Loved it! 🙂 ❤

  2. Could be out of the frying pan and into the fire here. But if they don’t try, what are their chances of survival? A tense and atmospheric tale Jane. Nicely told

  3. My heart clutched in my chest reading this piece at the prospect of a risk worth a risk. I’d go for it. I was mentally putting on my dark goggles, face bandana and pulling up my boots.

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