The Bridge and the Book

He had hit rock bottom. He had lost his job, wife, house, and dignity. He had nothing left to live for. He was ready to end it all.

He walked to the bridge, clutching a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He drank the last drop and threw the bottle into the river. He looked at the dark water below and felt a surge of fear and despair. He climbed over the railing and prepared to jump.

But then he heard a voice. A soft, gentle voice that said, Don’t do it.

He turned around and saw a woman standing behind him. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore a white dress and a smile. She looked like an angel.

Who are you?” he asked.

I’m here to help you,” she said.

“Why? What do you want from me?

“Nothing. I just want you to live.”

He stared at her, confused and suspicious. He didn’t believe in miracles or angels. He didn’t believe in anything.

“Why should I live?” he asked. “I have nothing to live for

“That’s not true,” she said. “You have a lot to live for. You have a purpose, a destiny, a gift.”

What are you talking about?”

“You are a writer,” she said.

He laughed bitterly. He had always wanted to be a writer, but he had never pursued his dream. He had settled for a boring office job that he hated. He had given up on his passion.

“I’m not a writer,” he said.

“Yes, you are,” she said. “You have stories inside you that need to be told. Stories that can inspire, heal, and transform people. Stories that can change the world.”

He shook his head. He didn’t believe her. He thought she was crazy.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve read them,” she said.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a book. A book with his name on the cover.

He gasped. He recognized the title. It was the title of the novel he had always wanted to write but never did.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

“I’m from the future,” she said.

He blinked. He thought she was joking.

“You’re from the future?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“And you came here to save me?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re my favorite author,” she said.

She handed him the book and smiled.

“Please don’t jump,” she said. “Please go back and write this book. And many more. You have no idea how much your words mean to me, and millions of others.”

He took the book and looked at it. He felt a strange sensation in his chest. A spark of hope, of curiosity, of wonder.

He looked at her and saw sincerity in her eyes. He felt something else in his chest. A warmth, a connection, a gratitude.

He climbed back over the railing and stood next to her.

“Thank you,” he said.

She hugged him and whispered in his ear.

“Thank you for living.”

Received message. OK, here is a possible short fiction story you can use or modify: --- He had hit rock bottom. He had lost his job, his wife, his house, and his dignity. He had nothing left to live for. He was ready to end it all. He walked to the bridge, clutching a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He drank the last drop and threw the bottle into the river. He looked at the dark water below and felt a surge of fear and despair. He climbed over the railing and prepared to jump. But then he heard a voice. A soft, gentle voice that said, "Don't do it." He turned around and saw a woman standing behind him. She had long blonde hair and blue eyes. She wore a white dress and a smile. She looked like an angel. "Who are you?" he asked. "I'm here to help you," she said. "Why? What do you want from me?" "Nothing. I just want you to live." He stared at her, confused and suspicious. He didn't believe in miracles or angels. He didn't believe in anything. "Why should I live?" he asked. "I have nothing to live for." "That's not true," she said. "You have a lot to live for. You have a purpose, a destiny, a gift." "What are you talking about?" "You are a writer," she said. He laughed bitterly. He had always wanted to be a writer, but he had never pursued his dream. He had settled for a boring office job that he hated. He had given up on his passion. "I'm not a writer," he said. "Yes, you are," she said. "You have stories inside you that need to be told. Stories that can inspire, heal, and transform people. Stories that can change the world." He shook his head. He didn't believe her. He thought she was crazy. "How do you know that?" he asked. "Because I've read them," she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a book. A book with his name on the cover. He gasped. He recognized the title. It was the title of the novel he had always wanted to write but never did. "How did you get this?" he asked. "I'm from the future," she said. He blinked. He thought she was joking. "You're from the future?" he asked. "Yes," she said. "And you came here to save me?" "Yes," she said. "Why?" "Because you're my favorite author," she said. She handed him the book and smiled. "Please don't jump," she said. "Please go back and write this book. And many more. You have no idea how much your words mean to me and millions of others. He took the book and looked at it. He felt a strange sensation in his chest. A spark of hope, of curiosity of wonder. He looked at her and saw sincerity in her eyes. He felt something else in his chest. A warmth, a connection, a gratitude. He climbed back over the railing and stood next to her. Thank you, he said. She hugged him and whispered in his ear. "Thank you for living.