Bridge

The bridge was covered in paint.

It coated most of the railings and the ground in a thick layer. Colorful and vibrant- many scenes depicted on the serene picture.

The bridge overlooked a magnificent waterfall in the middle of the woods. The site of a small amount of trails intersecting into one point. The bridge was the only way across for miles. It had been there for over thirty years. Brown and grey, made of wood and concrete; it required only a small amount of maintenance in consequence of it's builder, a very famous carpenter.

5 years before: a suicide was reported at this very bridge. It was horrible tragedy; from that day forward, 7 more lives were ended by suicide on the bridge. It was a quiet place where not many would walk everyday, turned into a quiet place where people passed into the afterlife. This circumstance earned the bridge it's name-

The Bridge of Life

Why the Bridge of Life? Because it was the last thing those poor souls saw before their death.

During the worst of the bridges history, the nearby town sent a task force to dissuade walkers from jumping- they would put signs and banners on the bridge. One such banner read "You are beautiful" with peace signs painted in purple surrounding the statement. Eyecatching and disrupting the sign actually saved one life unintentionally.

That day was windy and brisk, only one person stood on the bridge with a few surrounding witnesses yelling "Don't do it!". The persuasion did not seem to work as the man slowly approached the edge. His eyes scanned the waterfall and it's surroundings.

Slowly closing his eyes the man took a deep breath and climbed over the railing. Standing on the edge he opened his eyes and looked downward. One step and he would freefall- the watching party noticed this and as quietly as possible, began to sprint towards the jumper. One step forward as the man was grabbing the railing,

he let go.

Suddenly there was no ground to stand on, no support for his legs, nothing stopping this sensation of falling with his stomach rising up into his throat. His eyes were clamped shut as he felt the wind around his body, enclosing him in a cocoon of air. The countdown in his head slowly increased by 1 as he fell through the air.

The 2 never came.

All the man felt was a pulling sensation on his wrist as his freefall was interrupted. His eyes slowly opened as he realised he was just above the waterfall. One foot (~30cm) away the water raged and tumbled, angry and furious the water launched off the sheer cliff. He gawked as he looked up at his wrist. His hand was wrapped in a fabric colored yellow and purple. The banner had somehow wrapped around his hand.

Emotions flooded the mans mind as he started to consider the consequences of trying and failing to take ones own life. His thoughts were interrupted when a tugging sensation was felt on his wrist- eyes slowly raised the man watched as bystanders flocked to the makeshift rope. Tugging and pulling the man was slowly raised to the bridge. The man made an attempt to pull the banner off his wrist, unfotunately, the banner was tightly wrapped around and knoted on his wrist- he would knot(ha) be able to untie it.

As he was set back down on the bridge many hands put their arms around him, hugged him and praised him. The man was stuck in this chaos for a while before they let him leave with a precesion of cop cars and bystanders. Escorted to his home and handed a few business cards of therapists in the area the man was alone once again- in a cold house. Only to start anew in the cold world he had wished to leave only hours before.

It was a few years later when he revisited the bridge. Quietly walking the man observed the brown timber and grey concrete. It was aged and cracked, dents and warping was a common problem as the wood aged overtime while the concrete foundation began to crack and disintegrate.

Slowly meandering over the bridge the man approached the place he almost died. His emotions swirled, his expression was unreadable as he stood in the exact spot.

Slowly... He smiled

"I have changed- maybe this bridge should also change."

The next day the man approached the same spot with a few buckets of paint he had dragged through the forest. He slowly and deliberately sat down on the bridge and drew his brush like you would a pencil, or a sword.

As the bridge slowly became covered in white paint the man though about how his life had changed from cold and gloomy to colorful and vibrant. All because of the girl he had met after his attempt- she had healed his heart and become his wife. Now he was the proud father of a little bundle of joy called Nick. His joy had caused him to visit the catalyst of his exuberance. That very same bridge.

As his brush fluttered about his thoughts were interrupted by a teenager approaching his position. The sound of footsteps came to a halt as the owner of those footsteps glanced at the man painting the bridge. Confusion flashed in his face as his footsteps began to reverse.

"Wait!"

The man's shout drew the teenagers attention as his steps abruptly stopped. Slowly the teenager looked at the man with a questioning stare.

"Would... you like to help me?

"No chance grampa-"

The teenager with the piercing statement started to stomp away.

"Jeez, it was just a question"

The man muttered as the teenager slowly inched away.

Imagine his surprise as the teenager slowly and apprehensively approached an hour later with a brush in hand. Confusion then a big smile greeted the teenager as he pouted and dropped next to the solitary man.

The teenager was quiet as he dipped his brush and began to paint with the man.

Least did the two know that the story had come to an end and a new one was just beginning.