Bridges are mysterious things. We know “this side”. Our side. It feels safe … we fit into it no problem. But we don’t seem to be able to fit into that unknown, forever shrinking point that disappears into the horizon, always ahead of us. Like our future. As if the future was too small for us to fit into it. As if that unknown point was hiding something cunning and dark, ready to leap at us, to snatch away from us the last shreds of hope, if we still hold any.


The gaslights on the sides of the bridge did little to dispel the fog and the darkness on that blustery winter night and the young woman contemplated the rows as she walked forwards slowly. Not a soul either side. Would she have the guts? It seemed the perfect time. The perfect night if there could be anything perfect in her life. Perhaps this was the only perfect thing. The end. Like the end of the bridge. Dark, mysterious, frightening… a dark point ahead of her. A place everything had narrowed down into. No more chance of escape. No more hope.

She walked towards the middle of the bridge and leaned over the stones feeling their coldness penetrating the thin layers of her ragged coat with their unforgiving hardness.

Down, the dark waters revolved madly, stirred by the recent storm.

Malena looked once more around and climbed over the edge…

She held her breath for a brief moment in anticipation of the freezing shock and wondered - is it true that when you are about to die all your life passes before your eyes like a film?-