The Bridge

This is a continuation of Russell Edson's "The Bridge," it can be found here

Dear mother, I am on the other side of the bridge. I am sad to say I’m the only one left now; the ape began climbing one of the skeletal supports about halfway into the crossing then disappeared into iron-red clouds looming overhead. He screeched something only intelligible to other apes but I was able to tell he was not himself. His eyes were a ghostly shade of milk white, jaw agape, face stiffened as he stood there motionless before bolting for the support, as if possessed. I yelled out to him but the sound of my voice was immediately drowned out by his relentless howls. “Oh well,” I said to myself, “Never liked monkeys anyways.” I continued on.

I deviated onto the side of the bridge to check what the bridge was protecting me from, I couldn’t see anything. It was foggy and dark, so much that my eyes cannot pierce the black, forsaken mist. It is whispering to me. I march forward; step by step, bone by bone, skull by skull, I march. Pushing on for what seemed like months, and no end in sight. I stopped looking back for fear I would confuse myself on which way to go, since both paths looked the same; foggy, bony, endless. I grew a beard.

I decided to check the entities below us again, the theme remained unchanged but this time, I spy a blurred silhouette in the midst of the darkness. It seems to be the shape of a small vessel, a boat! My eyes brightened at the sight of possibly finding another soul here in this seemingly lifeless world. “If there is a boat, there should be someone on board!” I thought to myself. Sure enough, a shadowy figure breaks the mists but only so, just enough for me to confirm someone is there. He looks to be repeating a recognizable motion, like he is rowing. I am not sure. He is too far away for me to make contact with him by any practical means; all I was able to do is stalk the shadow until the mist completely engulfs him as he rows away from me. I trekked on.

After what seemed like an eternity of marching, I could finally see a horizon in the distance. By the time I reached land, the sight was not what I expected to see. Though I did expected a similar theme to what I’ve been exposed to during my journey across this bridge, my new home is far more sinister. The ground is saturated in burgundy with small cracks scattered every which way. The sky still filled with rust-colored clouds occasionally disturbed by a flash of red lightning, bathing the air with a light orange haze. It is toxic. The air attained a noxious flavor of burning flesh. Various bones jut out of the earth and hillside, a few dripping coagulated blood. Burnt, leafless trees decorate the landscape with thorny roots protruding from the base, looking like snakes as they move sluggishly in all directions, perhaps waiting for anything unlucky enough to wander within grasping distance; those poor, dead b******s.

I remember when my friends were still with me, I remember the sounds of mechanical clanking as lead and metal clash. I remember the foghorn shouts of my superior followed by snide remarks from my comrades. I remember the mortar explosions around me, the gunshot of a thousand rifles, the frantic radio calls between headquarters and the radioman, the horrifying screams of dying fathers, brothers, and sons. I remember... the war. I remember now, mother. I’ve taken refuge in a dry cave-like opening in the hillside as I await my calling to meet with the landlord of this realm. I am writing you this letter now, mother, as I await my judgment, as I await my fate, as I waste away here in the place you would refer to as “Hell.”