The Bridge

June 29, 2011
By Anonymous

I dreamt that we were on a bridge. I knew I was dreaming because this bridge had been demolished. We walked slowly and carefully across, holding onto the thin rope railing. I was sweating even though the river under us was coated with a thin layer of ice. Our friends, already safely across, urged us to continue on. The boards felt fragile under my feet, like they could snap at any moment. But I kept moving, because I was already more than halfway there. I didn't dare look down. If I did, I would've been even more frightened. When I was two boards away from safety, I heard the loud crack of splintering wood and instinctively jumped towards land. Immediately, I turned around to see my best friend Jesse hanging onto a single board for life. His eyes bore straight to my soul and stabbed me deep. We held eye contact for longer than I can remember, but his arms were quickly losing strength. The others, not wanting to make the situation worse by going out on the bridge, helplessly searched for a rope to throw out to Jesse. When they found nothing, they stood at the edge, urging him to climb back up. One of them called 911. I became vaguely aware of a sharp pain in my left arm, but ignored it, staring at Jesse instead. I felt that if I broke eye contact, he would fall. But he couldn't hold on any longer. He fell from the bridge. I watched in pure terror, falling for what seemed an eternity, as if in slow motion. "Jesse!" I screamed as he fell. A small crack sounded as he broke the ice, followed quickly by the splash hitting the icy water. I curled up into the fetal position and sobbed uncontrollably. And that's when I woke up.

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