by David Elder

Created on: July 10, 2009   Last Updated: August 03, 2009

The Bridge

Imagine, if you will, a world in which the fairy tales of our youth are revealed to be a twisted shadow of the truth. Our subject for this humble parable is Charles Woodson, a vagrant who is down on his luck due to some unfortunate personal choices. He is about to take a journey into another reality; one which will teach him the value of staying on the lighted path. Charles will soon discover that he has stepped off of the road, and onto a dark and lonely trail which leads directly to...The Twilight Zone.

Charles Woodson woke slowly from vivid dreams of plenty. There had been tables heaped with ham and beef, with mashed potatoes and gravy, and pitchers of cold beer waiting to be poured into frosted glasses. He could still taste the corn on the cob with salt and melted butter as his eyes blinked away the remnants of precious sleep. Gone was the sumptuous feast, replaced with the acrid smell of rotting death, hidden somewhere out in the dark, no doubt another victim of the hardscrabble life he had recently become accustomed to.

No warm and welcoming hall here, and no company of friends and laughter, but rather the dubious shelter of a culvert, grudgingly shared with other vermin who clung to its shadows for safety. A faint scuttling at his back was finally enough to roust him from his cramped position, as he stood and relieved himself in the gloom of pre-dawn. He faintly remembered the events of the previous evening, and a brief but violent encounter with a more respectable member of society in the confines of a darkened alley. That occasion had allowed him to purchase a bottle of Old Granddad, which had helped blur the otherwise dismal prospect of sleeping out in the open.

It hadn't always been this way for Charles. He had once been a promising intern in a brokerage firm, married to a beautiful woman, and apparently headed inexorably into a life of unbridled success. At times he would dwell on how it used to be before the irregularities in his accounts were discovered, and prior to his ensuing divorce. That was two years ago, and he had become bitter about what he considered his bad luck, blaming others for his turn of fate, and convinced that eventually all would be restored to him.

In the meantime, he would do what was necessary to survive. All he needed was that one good break; one score that would give him a stake and allow him to get back on his feet. When he did come back he would savor the pleasure of seeing their faces, proving to them that he

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