Ugh. COVID-19 is doing me in, I swear. And I’m not sick with it. As leadership in a hospital, I’ve been all but drowning in stuff related to the novel coronavirus. I am working, slowly, on putting my thoughts and experiences down in words because I’m not a nurse or a doctor. But I am supervising a clinic where we continue to see patients, continue to do our jobs as some of the first resources our patients have when the need help with COVID-19. Yes, things are modified, but we have to be there for our patients. The alternative would be even worse. Anyway, I will get there and you’ll have a chance to glimpse my life lately. In the mean time,I have a fun flash from Kat over at Fiction Trials. We got the photo below, up to 300 words, and 4 hours. I give you:
The Bridge to Tarafel
Her heart hammered at her ribs as she stared through the arches. The bridge appeared to allow passage across the canyon to paradise yet looks were deceiving.
“Make your choice, girl. Cross, or forever turn your back on the glory that is Tarafel.” The old woman prodded her with a large knobby staff.
“Must I make this choice today?” She could not tear her eyes away to ask her question
directly to the old woman.
“Twenty-two, are you not?”
The younger woman nodded. “As of this moon.”
“Then, yes.”
The blue lights twisting and dancing in the archways that rose over the brick path pulled at her, refused to let her back away. Something gripped her soul and tugged her toward the bridge. She had known before she ever asked that she would choose today. And that she would cross the bridge. The question that remained—would she make it across?
“What happened to the others who tried to cross?”
The old woman snorted. “Who knows? The bridge has a mind of its own. Some say each arch is a doorway to another place and time. Perhaps the bridge sent the others away somewhere, but who believes in such things nowadays?”
She thought she caught an odd sideways glance from the old woman, like the old woman dared her to voice her belief in just such things. She almost did, too, but years of teasing and torment taught her well not to give life and light to the wishes of her heart.
“Perhaps the wind in the canyon took them instead.” The old woman turned her back to the younger. “The time for words is done, make your choice.”
She nodded at the old woman’s words. With a breathy prayer, she stepped onto the bridge.
Part author, part artist, all dreamer 