(Photo Credit: Crispina Kemp)
This was a bridge over nothing and leading nowhere. The connected had long ceased to have any connection since the connectors themselves were homage to a relic. The worn and faded floorboards creaked and groaned like the scratching of a wooden chair on the floor. An ugly asymmetry revealed itself as at random intervals the nails hammered into the floorboards prised open.
A profusion of moss had made the railings it’s home. The sturdy metal beams forming what was once a delectable overhang were ravaged by the vagaries of nature and vacuity of neglect. The colour of rust displaced the original paint and a gaping hole bore into one of the pillars.
The proposed gateway to commerce neither saw exchange nor bore witness to transport. An internecine rift between the two provinces, and the play of vote bank politics had ensured that this was a bridge built too soon.
(Word Count: 149)
Written as part of the Crimson’s Creative Challenge #17 More details regarding this challenge may be found HERE.