Crossing

BEFORE YOU READ IT!!! okay children this isnt that good. i was bored one day and wanted to write a story so i did in like .5 seconds so leave me alone. so before you readthing understand that it is still very much suseptable to editing. I need to work on

            Those who lived on the other side of the rivers bank are of the quiet sort. Rarely you hear them bustling around, you could almost swear they didn’t exist. For the most part no one in town crossed the river to commune with them; the only time the old wooden bridge was crossed was when visitors came from outside of this small village. I could see them from the edge of the flowing waters, they worked in the fields and went about there day as usual, it seemed to be an ordinary neighborhood. It wasn’t until one day that peculiar happenings occurred.

 

            Very few of us towns people owned slaves. No one owned a plantation or anything such as that, but the richer of us owned one or two Negroes to help them around the farm and house hold. The strange things started to happen when one of the slaves from across the river escaped. I saw it. He ran down the edge of the river, towards the bridge. He stepped upon the wooden structure and sprinted across it. His black skin faded into the night. Nothing odd about that, but what was odd, was that when he was caught, an old man dragged him by the arm across the bridge, the Negroes bare heels were being scratched and splintered by the wood of the bridge. When he got to the other side the man shoved him upright and told him to walk. The run away best listen as the man was armed with a shot gun that he seemingly used as a walking stick. I saw all this, but my eyes were not powerful enough to bare witness to the events that happened when he got into the town.

 

            From what I heard, no one had lost a slave, or that is what those on the other side of the river told the man. It was an obvious lie, the slave was owned by an old woman who lived in a beautiful home near the towns square. The slave was most likely as confused as the man but he asked no questions for he had been handed freedom.

 

            Upon returning, the man was asked many questions; what is it like there? Did the slave get a good beating? Are they weird folk? All of the questions were answered and the man told the people that it was a beautiful place and he may even consider moving there.

            He died in his sleep that night.

 

            Of course it was only a matter of hours that the other side of the river became largely attributed to the man’s death and was clearly a cursed place. More oddities occured such as dead dogs and samll children who crossed the bridge. People were afraid to cross now. The unknown as a very overbearing presence. As a result of this, two things happened, the first being that the bridge was to be sealed off from the public due to the superstitious town council, the second being that human curiosity took hold.

 

          People got curious, especially young people. They tried to cross, but their efforts were thwarted. It was now law that no one was to cross that river. I wondered if it was law for the people on the other side too. I watched one time as the town sheriff fished two teenage boys, 6 years my elder, out of the river. Right above the splashes of the struggle, I saw another man watching. I blinked and he started to walk away, supporting himself with a shot gun.

 

 

 

 

It’s been 30 years, a war, and emancipation later, and I still live in this tiny town and no one has crossed the river again. Then again, no one is capable of doing such with out the bridge that I helped to tear down 20 years ago. It was a simple job that earned me 5 dollars. Quite the pretty penny. It lasted me a while. The order to tear down the bridge was given after a 12 year old girl was dared to cross it and never returned. You may ask why no one went out to look for her. But the answer is simple; she was given back graciously in a packaging of dirt with a bow of a stone tablet in the church yard. No one questioned how she got there.

 

 

            It was pathetic really how no one went across that stupid line made of liquid. It seemed that no one had ever gone across it. None of the old folks have or anything. The man was relatively new to the town, so I guess he never heard stories. You may say that it seems crazy, but when these people have had this notion no to go across that river for so long, they are not going to do it. The elders also made it a point to bestow that notion on the young ones. Its weird I know, but no one had anything better to do.

 

 

All of the town’s people have such insignificant lives yet they keep the satisfied. They enjoy the simple pleasures of a spring breeze and a beautiful garden. They are content. Not me though. They know it too, or at least they better. They also all know why. It is impossible not to.

 

I rushed home one day from working in the mill for a little boy came to me baring a message: “It’s time! It’s time!” I tipped him and ran as fast as I could across town. My feet pounded away at the dirt and stone. Gabriel for a boy, Sarah for a girl? Maybe Thomas or Margret? I dodged some of my fellow citizens, and probably looked like a fool to some people. To most people, on the other hand, I looked as expected since most of the people in the neighborhood knew what was happening.

 

 I finally got to my house waving at people on the opposite side of the street, as they observed what was happening from a distance. They would have been to close for comfort on the right side of the street near my house. I scrambled up to my porch and pulled open the wooden and screen door to my house. I leaped up the stairs as they creaked monstrously. I heard crying. Not the crying I wanted to hear. Not the crying of a child, but an adult. The doctor stopped me from entering the room where my wife was sobbing uncontrollably and put his hand on my shoulder. He told me that the baby didn’t make it and that it wasn’t anyone’s fault. He said that God just did not think it was the right time yet.

 

God didn’t think it’s the right time yet?

 

I don’t even know what that is supposed to mean. I ran across town, my heart was racing as I did so, and I could only think of my wife and names. Names. We hadn’t even picked out a name to present upon our new born. Now we would have to pick a name to put upon his tomb stone. I refuse. So did Kate. Neither of us wanted to name the small hallow doll of flesh that was just dropped upon this earth.

 

I took Kate into my arms and held her tightly. We stayed like this for quiet sometime. My shirt was soaking wet from her snot and tears. She grabbed my shirt and twisted the fabric in her pain. I didn’t know what to say. Sorry honey, but Mr. God doesn’t think it’s the right time for us to begin our lives. Not a chance.

 

A big city is like a lake, drop a pebble into it, and the ripples fade into the rest of the water, but a small town is like a puddle. When you drop a pebble, the ripples are like giant waves that reach every corner of the wet patch. When something happens in a small town, word travels fast and soon everyone knows about it. I am sure that in the time me and Kate spent curled up next to each other in that bloody bed, crying and rolling around in our misery that every gossiping old women, every drunk at a bar, and every young couple at a dinner table knew what had happened.

 

I do not know how I survived that night. Neither of us slept. We remained silent. Our home had become a tomb. We paced and stood still, and we both were consumed by the rotting air of these four walls. She was the first to shatter the suffocating silence with the simple words, “it’s not fair.”

 

Those were her last words, not the last words that came out of that mouth, but the last words Kate ever spoke, the last sound that came from within her heart, through her throat and out into my ear.

 

From that day on she became stony, pale, and empty. When I got home from work and kissed her, the skin on her cheek made my warm lips tingle on the frozen flesh.

 

Others noticed it too. To this day I can not tell who they felt bad for, her, or me. They may have felt bad for me because I was so devoted to the shell of a woman.

 

We never made another attempt to have another baby, nor have we ever looked each other dead in the eye again. I didn’t want to anyway. Her once sky blue eyes turned gray and icy. I wished we had argued sometimes. I would have at least seen her lips open, but instead they were sealed tightly shut.

 

I had no idea that this had hit her so hard. I think she may have felt guilty.

 

I left for work one day and she told me that she would be going to town hall to take care of family matters. I kissed her cold lips good bye and I left the house and crossed to the left side of the street and began to walk.

 

The day seemed like any other, I passed town hall as usual and made my way to the mill. I worked all day and walked back home. I walked past town hall again and I saw Kate in the window. I walked up and smiled at her, she smiled back at me. Then, I looked her dead in the eye, her gray, steel eyes. My smile quickly diminished. I saw her hands clutching the windowsill. I watched her as she threw her body forward and out of the window. Her body came down like a rag doll thrown by a child. My jaw hanged open as my eyes followed my wife through the air and onto the ground. Everyone around me who saw the event flew to her broken body, but not me. I stood there and glared at the empty woman who was once my wife.

 

She had most likely gone to the town hall because it was just the highest point in town. I knew why she chose to jump as opposed to other methods; she liked birds. It was a weird little thing she had. Are yard was full of bird houses and she used to tell me how she wished one day she would fly. If I laughed anymore I would still laugh at it. It was such a strange thing she had; I do not even know why I am bothering to tell you this. I can only imagine how it must have felt for her as she flew from the 3^rd story of that building. That sense of flying may have even put a smile on her face in the time she hit the ground.

 

Everyone gathered around the bird with the clipped wings. It wasn’t her though. Kate died a while ago. That was a corpse hopping around, just a shadow of what it once was. I did not care for the death of a corpse.

 

I went to the river. I stood at its banks like I had done when I was a child. I thought this might clear my head as usual. I surveyed the bank opposite me. I looked past the layers of trees and saw a town and towns people. Quiet people minding their own business. I dipped my feet in its waters and immediately took them out. I promised myself I wouldn’t come here again.

 

It has been a year since all of that. I can’t say that I am over it. I rarely talk anymore, and people know not to talk to me. They know not to get in my way or to argue with me. Deep down they think that I am going to throw my self off of town hall next. I am no longer a person anymore. I am just the remnants of sad story people like to tell and something for mothers to tell their children not to stare at. I continued a clean daily pattern for a year, not deviating from it. I would wake up in a solitary bed, eat bacon, eggs, and toast alone, walk to work, get back home from work, eat a simple dinner, read a book, and then go to bed. This was my life. Even on Christmas I continued my pattern. I didn’t care. To tell you the truth I didn’t care about anything anymore. One day, my pattern was interrupted. My usual way to work was blocked off by the police for some reason I never cared to learn. With this, I plotted a new root that took me to the river.

 

My thoughts were never plagued by this river in so long. I spent most of my time as a child on its banks watching it flow. I stared across the river. I can not recall how long I stood there, but it was a while. I broke free of my trance and started to run to work now. I do not know why, but I did.

 

By the time I left work it was windy and the sky was being devoured by black clouds. I walked down my new path and it soon started to rain. I began to cry. The rain drenched me. I came to the river which was flowing a lot faster now with the rain. The water had turned brown. I heard the crack of thunder. Kate loved thunder storms. I cried even more know. I stopped walking. I started to shake. I knew what I had to do. I just couldn’t take it anymore.

 

I dove into the river.

 

The water came over my head was too strong for me. I was pushed along the course of the water. I couldn’t stand and I went under. I kicked as hard as I could and flailed my arms. I couldn’t breathe anymore. My body moved in directions I did not think possible until my mouth could retrieve air from the surface. I went under again. This time I believe I was under for a while. My hand grabbed something. It was dry earth.

 

My fingers dug into the dirt and I hoisted myself out of the river. I did it. I crossed the river. The sky was clear blue. Not a single cloud in sight. I was soaking wet. I waddled away from the river bank and through the trees. This place at first seemed no different then the other side of the river, but as I continued to get deeper, I noticed how beautiful it was. Birds were chirping and even the trees seemed happy. Not brown dirt was visible, only bright green grass. I got into town. All of the houses were beautifully painted and the people never stopped to smile. I got quite a few howdoyoudos, and several niceweatherisntits. I walked down the right side of the street. This place seemed so familiar yet I can not recall being in a place like this. A place so perfect.

 

The yards were elegantly manicured and the streets were perfectly paved. People were walking there dogs and playing with their beloved children. It was so here, yet so far.

 

I wandered around this place for so long. I could no longer remember the small town I left behind. No high trees got in the way of the vast blue sky. I could feel no heat from the sun or the cool of a breeze.

 

No one bothered to ask me why I was drenched. I just kept walking steadily. Each of the houses looked familiar but hallow of any memories. I could not see into the houses through the windows but it appeared that most of this side of the rivers residence were outside going about their day. Why would one stay indoors on such a magnificent day?

 

I lazily progressed into the town. More people kept appearing; going for meer strolls. Such a peaceful place.

 

I stopped walking.

 

On the left side of the street I saw them. Two sky blue dots. Kate. She stood there behind the screen door to our house; waiting for me. I ran over to the right side of the street and a scrambled up to the porch. I ripped open the screen door and grabbed her yelling “Kate, Kate! Is it really you!” And it was her. Not a rag doll; her.

 

And she just responded, “Shh, you’ll wake the baby.”

 

Author's Note

blah okay i dont think its that great i lik the concept more. Im going to edit later and make it flow better =p so yea. there is probably a lot of spelling mistakes. dont eat me.

Reviews

[Hannah Olivia]

Well I barley think you wrote it that fast, cause I was impressed =)
yep, I see the ignore the spelling mistakes thing but it really didn't matter because this is a really great story, and you have a fast, imaginative mind ^^

Keep writing!

~*~ Hannah

[jen -- JG]

You say you wrote this in like 5 secs, OK, for a first straight write I think this is excellent as is and only a little editing will improve it more.

I enjoyed this story very much. It was set up quite well and kept pulling me along. I liked the concept of "living in limbo" type of thing and that "crossing the bridge" brings death to one side but life to the other.

Yes, there are spelling mistakes, the setting out needs a little attention - as in using line breaks to split paragraphs - having such large blocks of print is hard to read on the computer.

Over all,

The concept is excellent.

The story is good, moves well from an interesting beginning, through an unhappy but believeabe life, right through to a satisfactory conclusion.

Please be careful with any editing, as it is possible to "over edit" and so ruin a fantasic story, idea or concept.

For a start, just get the spelling fixed, put in breaks between paragraphs, then leave it for awhile.

We writers are our own worst critics at times.

I like this story.

Cheers

Jen