The Bridge
A thing yearning to be what it once was
The bridge only went so far until it didn’t. The rusted spannings hanging in twisted steel over the river which coursed some hundred feet below. The ruined train tracks bowed outwards in shorn metal ribbons as if blindly seeking to connect again to the far beggared tracks. A thing yearning to be what it once was.
So many died.
“It’s okay,” he said to the little girl. “I’ve got you.” She opens the metal can and tips it forward. The ashes pouring in human sand to be taken by the wind in a spreading grey cloud.
“Goodbye, Papa.”
About the Creator
Kevin Rolly
Artist working in Los Angeles who creates images from photos, oil paint and gunpowder.
He is writing a novel about the suicide of his brother.
http://www.kevissimo.com/
FB: https://www.facebook.com/Kevissimo/
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