The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:15:43 -

The Pale Bridge

The dream was a gray smear. It tasted of wet chalk and old copper. I was standing on the bridge, the one that crosses the river behind the estate. The planks were loose. The air was thick with the smell of rot. I tried to wake up, but the dream pulled me down. It is a common dream now. A boundary I cannot cross. I am a soldier. Or I was. The uniform hangs in the closet, stiff and dry. The...

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