POLLUTING

She stood by the entrance of the bridge looking aloof. It was almost noon on a weekday, and many people were crossing the worn wooden bridge. Businessmen in black anxiously checking their watches to make sure they were on schedule, children skipping across to picnic at the park, or scandalously dressed women attending lunch at fancy restaurants on the small island. The petite island was but a bridge away from the mainland and full of activities. None seemed to hesitate before crossing the overpass except for her. She knew it was perfectly safe even considering its age, but something in her mind stirred and caused her to ponder. 

The city was hitting autumn and welcoming winds. The warm air flipped her hair with a gentle shove and finally brought her back to her senses. She had been standing there for ten minutes in a trance until the tails of her hair hit her face. She could not assemble nor recall the strange feeling that landed in her mind as she approached the bridge. It was like a weightless feather brushing against her heart, almost unnoticeable but tingling it ever so subtly. She shook her head slightly and prodded on. 

She joined the crowd on the decaying planks of the bridge. Maple leaves were reddening at this time of the year and making their way to the earth. One detached itself from a tree and collided into her shoulder. She turned around to the feeble tap and saw that the leaf had now made its way onto the water below. She looked over at the serene surface of the river and saw her reflection, bouncing and ebbing to the movement of water.

***

If she had died twenty summers ago, it would have been here. It would have been the exact bridge in the exact situation, except she was a little girl peering over the bridge those twenty years ago, and somehow she had fallen. Perhaps it was the slightly abusive wind that year that caused it to happen, or maybe it was a child's curiosity, or if someone had watched her carefully, one would have realized that the accident was by no means an accident. But no one was there that day, it was just her alone on this classy bridge, all beautiful with sculptures and lights. The same bridge and the same spot, except it was hitting midnight, and the moon was smiling upon the little girl who sneaked out to play on the island with her little sister.

***

Then she remembered. She remembered looking at her reflection on the same bridge at the same spot those twenty years ago. Except she saw two faces looking back at her on the water surface, one in horror and one in splendor, moments before she plummeted into the river and lost her conscience.