The Pale Bridge
The bridge snapped. It did not break with a roar, but with a dry, brittle crack, like a knuckle popping in a silent room. The timber dissolved into splinters. We fell. Or rather, we dropped. Gravity took its due. I hit the water. The cold was a physical blow. It stopped my heart for a second. Then it restarted. I kicked. I swam. The current was strong. It pulled me downstream. I did not fight...
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