The Autumn BridgeA Story by Mila The bridge between life and death is really nothing more than one covered in the colors of autumn, as told through a vivid memory. The Autumn Bridge I remember... I first met him when crossing the bridge over the river. The
structure itself was a simple thing, but when coupled with the beauty of the
seasons reflected in the clear water of the flowing river beneath it, it was
rather beautiful. There were many myths about the running water of rivers.
They trapped spirits and the vampires of myth could not cross over it. In many
ways, it could have been a prison. I always thought it odd that a body of water
that never stopped flowing for anything could be considered a prison. And it
was autumn, and the trees were so many different colors…how could a prison be
so beautiful? His name was a whisper on a few lips. Sometimes I had a
strange theory that I was the only one who knew him, and that made it even more
romantic. It made it interesting and different. It was an odd thing that I was
in the same situation as him. No one knew who I was either. I could only speak
my name now and, even then, I never did. I remember what I was wearing the day I met him. I always
wore it. It was my favorite dress. Yellow, red, and orange, it reflected the
colors of autumn. Anything that reflected autumn was a favorite thing of mine. He had complimented me on it with a mischievous smile on his
lips. He would have made me blush, if I could. “Perhaps I will fall off this bridge because I can’t stop
staring at you in that dress.” He winked at me then. I was at a loss for words. “Do you come here often?” I shook my head, though it was a lie. In fact, I crossed
this bridge every day. It was a tradition of mine. It was, very likely, the
only distinct path I walked in my years of life; the only path I knew for sure
the way of. I had never seen him here, though, and that made me frown. “I never come this way.” He had answered my thoughts as
though he had read them, “I’ve never had a reason to.” “Do you need a reason?” “Everything needs to have a reason.” He replied, his voice
only slightly distant, “Our meeting must have had one, don’t you think?” I did not think so, “I think it was by chance and nothing
else.” I didn’t know why I said that, but he was ready with a
reply, “Even so, my dear, now I have a reason to come back if you do. If I return
this way at this exact time tomorrow, will I see you?” It was an odd question to me, for no one had ever been so
curious about my daily schedule. But, then again, no one ever saw me. I
was…invisible, to say the least. I was an entity of this world that people
often ignored or denied the existence of. I knew they could see me…but they
never saw me as I was. It was refreshing to have him notice me, for such a life
was one I had deemed lonely a long time ago. In the end, I nodded, and he bid me farewell. I did not see
him leave, but I knew that I would meet him again. It was an unspoken promise
that was between the both of us only, and no one else ever had to know. He came again the next day with a yellow rose. “Red is
beautiful, but yellow is different and ethereal, like you.” “It matches autumn.” I noted, taking the rose with a smile.
I then placed it in my hair, causing him to share the most beautiful of smiles
with me. The days passed in this way. I came to the bridge and he was
already there, ready with a yellow rose. We never met twice in the same day because
we had our own paths to walk. We had short conversations and rarely spoke of
our pasts. We were mysteries to one another. Perhaps that was the beauty of it.
Autumn grew and grew, and I felt as though I loved a
stranger. Whether that was torture or a
blessing was yet another mystery. Autumn seemed to be a beautiful time of year. It was the
only one that held little certainty. Though many would argue that winter was,
by far, the most uncertain of turbulent seasons, no one could reckon the colors
of autumn, or how it would change the landscape. Things that no one ever
noticed became the object of everyone’s respective affections. The smallest
tree in a grove of large ones sported the brightest colors and, for once, no
one bothered to criticize how small its trunk was. Everything was beautiful,
even the prospect of an impossible love between two strangers. “I could take a canvas, and paint every detail of this
forest,” He said one time, “And none of it would match up to having a portrait
painted of you looking at all of it.” “I can’t imagine that.” I replied cynically, “I am not so
interesting to look at, and hardly more so than autumn.” “Why would you say that?” “My life wasn’t ever about people finding me so…attractive.
Or even eye catching for that matter.” Despite that, I had to smile, “Besides,
how can someone compare a swan to an ugly duckling?” “Who would be the swan?” “Not me.” I laughed, “I’m far too uninteresting.” “But you aren’t the ugly duckling either.” He smiled, “You’re
the farthest thing from it.” “I don’t see it. I’m too invisible.” “No. You’re too beautiful to be an ugly duckling or a swan.
That is what you are.” His eyes held a sense of finality that even I could not
deny, “Trust me.” I did. I trusted him more than I thought logical. The trees
around us were a multitude of different colors, just like the different ways I
found myself trusting him. I never saw him approach the bridge. He never saw me leave.
We would turn our backs and never glance at one another. Neither of us wanted
to accept that, one day, a very murky truth would have to be revealed. The days
I found myself thinking about it were the days that seemed darker even when
there was no night. Reality was like a gust of winter wind in the midst of high
summer. A dead flower during spring. Reality wasn’t the enemy, but it wasn’t
the friend either. We both agreed that the mystery was the best part. Not
knowing what could ruin everything was more of a blessing than having to face
it. Autumn was too beautiful for our love to be ruined by the truths that we
denied to tell. “A life lived in mystery is not a life wasted.” He would
say, and I agreed, though I knew that it wasn’t the right choice. It was a life of mystery we continued to observe…but the
truth had to be revealed. I sensed it and so did he. Our conversations would be
a constant dance between words, trying to distract each other from blurting out
what we knew needed to be said. The bridge held a strong foundation, but ours was
crumbling beneath our feet. The season continued on as beautiful as ever, unaware of our
woes and strife. For what did the world care of us? It would always continue on
as the lives within it shattered one after the other. Who were we to stop it?
What was it to care? We were constantly living life oblivious only to die
knowing. Our final breaths were words spoken of truth. The colors of fall were
beautiful, but really they were the representation of death. And death was
beautiful. Death was a stunning collaboration of color. Death came with a
beauty that took the breath out of anyone who saw it. Winter would darken the
skies soon, and still we would fondly remember autumn, but not what it
represented. Winter was the truth that we were trying to run from. But we
couldn’t run forever. The world waited for no one. The bridge grew distant as he took me to the cemetery just
before the beginning of the end of autumn. The trees were starting to grow
bare, but a scattering of multicolored autumn leaves remained on the ground and
branches. Birds chirped and the petals of flowers decorated the path. I did not
know this path as well. The one to the bridge was the only one I walked with
certainty. But little did I know, this path was his and mine both. It was the
one we had walked together for the first time. “We cannot be nameless forever.” He said, “And I can think
of no better way to introduce myself.” I knew that he was right, but still I was confused. This had
been my way of introducing myself to him. How had he known? How was his the
same? “They say ‘til death do us part.” He whispered, caressing my
face as he led me to stand before two unmarked graves, “I parted with no one from
life. I died last autumn, my dear. And this is my bridge.” I looked then at what he indicated to. The grave I saw was,
indeed, nameless save for the date he had died on carved in the dark marble. The
ground around it was bare except for the fallen leaves. They circled around the
gravestone, and it was an ethereally ironic sight to behold. The dead were
guarding the dead, but who would ever see it that way? I knew for a fact that, had that same ground not been so
horrifically familiar to me, I would have seen it just like that. Alas, all I
saw was what I had meant to show him. It was only a terrible coincidence that our
truths clashed into the reality that we had tried too hard to avoid. I felt tears sting my eyes. Breathing, or the lack of it,
was not an issue, but the hollowness that I had ignored to feel for all these
years of walking that path to the bridge came in a rush that nearly knocked me
off my feet. My body shook, though there was no fear of falling. In the sorrow,
I could hardly hear myself weeping. He held me close, thinking that it was him that I wept for.
He thought that it was his death that brought me the pain that I couldn’t
really feel. I knew that it should have been that. For everything that had been
taken, the only thing that I had to give was sympathy and warmth. I wished that
he was the reason I mourned and cried the way I did. But the world didn’t grant
wishes, it mocked them. “ ‘Til death do us meet.” I sobbed in his chest, “Autumn is
my bridge as well, my love. It’s my unmarked grave next to yours.” Indeed, he saw it with certainty, as it was the grave
decorated with the roses he had given me, only I had not put them there. I
heard him break down as well, and the beauty of the world around slowly began
to shatter. Autumn was now the face of death. We stood there for the longest time, holding each other and
sobbing. If we had hearts, they would have beat together in a symphony that no
one would ever hear. He was more myself than I had ever known. We both lived
and died in autumn, and had he never saw fit to walk that bridge, neither of us
would have ever realized that we were never truly alone. I would have walked
that path forever and never known that there was another meant to walk it as
well. We never saw each other leave when it was over, because we
faded as one. We were laid to rest together, two strangers with unmarked
graves. The next day, the bridge awaited us both, but it was no
longer autumn. © 2014 MilaAuthor's Note
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MilaSt. Louis , MOAboutALL WINNERS FROM MY CONTESTS WILL HAVE THIER WORKS FEATURED ON MY WATTPAD ANTHOLOGY WITH FULL CREDIT GIVEN TO THEM! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WELL BEFORE HAND IF YOU DO NOT WANT ME TO FEATURE YOUR WORK! A.. more..Writing
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