The Bridge

It was a fairly sunny day. The sun was shining with some flocks of clouds, slowly sweeping across the blue of the sky, occasionally hovering over the red orb. I remember wearing something quite out of ordinary. It was definitely not something fancy. I didn't have high heels on, nor did I have sandals on. Oh how I still dread them. In fact, I didn't have any shoes on. I quite vividly remember the warmth of the asphalt beneath my feet. It was rough, almost painful, though a comforting sensation. Little rocks stung my skin whenever I stepped on them, but I didn't mind. The wind was blowing west, chasing away the rain clouds of yesterday. The trim of my dress danced with the wind ever so slightly, gently brushing against my thighs. It was pleasant.

After a while of strolling along a rather lonely dirt path, I met a couple; a man and a woman, desperately trying to take a decent picture - tourists. We had quite a handful of them every year. They were awkwardly standing at the anchor of our town's famous suspension bridge which allowed people - mostly tourists - to have a splendid view of a nearly dried out waterfall and an endless rocky landscape.

"Honey, if you would kneel down a bit, we could see more of the waterfall behind us," the man carefully said, not wanting to say his missus was blocking the wonderful beauty behind them.

"Well, if you had longer arms - which you don't - my torso could also be in the picture too!" the woman hissed at her mister, though she still obediently bent down her knees. The couple continued to struggle nonetheless.

"Excuse me," I helpfully called out, "maybe I could, you know, help you out a bit."

The woman's eyes beamed bright and her camera-ready smile stretched wider. "Please!" She took the camera from the her husband and held it forward. "We really need a nice photo for our wedding reception!" she sang.

I accepted the camera. It was heavier than I thought, I know that for sure, for I nearly dropped the expensive artifact. It was one of those semi-professional cameras that were made especially for the non-professionals. "You just need to press the big button for a few seconds," the husband explained. "And make sure that we are in the focus," he added, fixing his baseball cap. On it was a bright red logo of an unknown baseball team.

I nodded, moving a few steps back so they could have their desirable waterfall in the frame. "Smile!" I told them before taking a few pictures. They even turned out quite good, if my memory serves me correctly.

"Thank you so, so much," her appreciation expressed through the emphasized so's . "Now, you take portraits of me." She shoved the camera to her husband. The husband, though annoyed, complied. He got on one knee, as if it would have been their second proposal, and went to business.

I resumed my path - a one-person parade upon the wooden bridge. A new sensation took place as I walked. It was smooth with some sandy dust on it, definitely rougher than the previous dirt road but not as rocky. The handrail was made of robe and it numbed my hand as I pushed along.

I stopped midway down the bridge, and without taking another breath to cherish life, or having another look at the soon-to-be-married couple, or letting the sun kiss my warm skin one last time, I let my body plunge past the handrail.

Had I taken a deep breath, perhaps - just perhaps - I would have a change of heart. Maybe that was why I skipped it.

After that was rather quick and I can barely recall the split seconds I was in the air before my body crushed against the sharp edges of the red rocks and turned them some shades darker. I merely registered the shriek of the couple, though I believe it was from the mister. I probably ruined their trip and perhaps their marriage as well, but I am not sorry. It was the best decision of my well-lived life, I must say.