Morning all and happy Monday. I hope everyone had a fantastic weekend. For now let’s jump into the morning prompt and see what comes of it. Set those timers for fifteen minutes and let’s get going.
Thee are oh so many ways I could take this. Not quite sure which I will choose. I’m thinking maybe horror.
Monday, August 5th: It was not safe.
It was not safe. I knew this, my brain knew this and my body surely knew this as my knees locked up and refused to take me even one step into danger. The problem was that it was the only way out. I looked at the rickety rope bridge. The mist was heavy around the entire gorge and it looked as though it disappeared into nothingness. I couldn’t see more than six feet down the length of the bridge, let alone spot the other side.
Behind me I heard explosions and the sound of running feet. Soon they would realize I might have come in this direction and the general search would become one with a direction. I needed to be gone.
‘The mists will conceal me as well as the bridge.’ I tried telling myself. The sounds of the others grew closer. ‘I have to go.’
Slowly my knees unlocked. I took a step forward. The planks below my feet swayed, but held.
Now that I was on the bridge, I decided the best course of action would be to move as fast as possible in case anything did decide to give way. The rusted iron of my knees turned to quicksilver and I strode out across the swaying bridge, hands sliding along side to rope supports of the side.
I normally would have told myself not to look down, but I was more worried about not seeing a missing plank than I was about what lay below. The mist was all encompassing and while it blocked out what lay ahead, it also covered the fall below. There were no heights to make me dizzy. I concentrated on my steps and making them ass fast as I could.
Once I glanced back and saw the start of the bridge had been swallowed from my sight.
‘It’s good,’ I told myself as I stepped over the empty spo where a plank was missing. ‘If I can’t see the start of the bridge then no one standing on the edge could see me.’
I was pretty sure my passage would cause the bridge to move so it would be easy to spot. ‘But I should also be able to feel anyone following me if they step onto the bridge.’
As far as pep talks went, it left a lot to be desired. I kept moving. Sound travelled strangely in the mist and I didn’t know if they had made their way to the site of the bridge or not. Sometimes they sounded close and other times far away. I didn’t feel the bridge shift as though another’s weight was added so I counted that a good thing. In the distance in front of me I could see the dim outline of the other end. Thee were two dark shapes I thought were posts securing the other end of the bridge. The rose from a long horizontal line I thought was the other side of the gorge.
As I drew closer, they grew more distinct. The end was in sight. I shifted my gaze from watching my feet to studying the land on the other side. The end grew closer. I could see there were no missing boards on the remaining section and hurried forward. When my feet were finally placed on the other side of the bridge, back on solid ground, I let out a shaky breath and felt it vibrate all the way own into my stomach.
‘Not safe yet,’ I told myself. There were still the sounds of people and I was pretty sure they were getting closer. ‘But I am off the bridge so it should stop moving.’
Either way I needed to be gone. I didn’t need anyone to see a shape moving in the fog to think it was me. ‘Plus they might investigate.’ I was certain that if they couldn’t find me elsewhere they would soon cross to investigate the bridge. The further away I was when that happened, the better.
Ten til Midnight 