The Bridge

A rusty bridge holds its place in the middle of everywhere. The only passage between death and life, the only passage that helps the parasite to survive. That sycophant who chewed and spat on the other side, destroyed and wreaked havoc on the tranquil land. The leech who was trusted to be the protector, but all that he did was... The two lands, one corrupted and the other is not. The two lands, bound to forever connect. The two lands, with only one having hope. The two lands, and only one being mope. And the bridge that firmly holds them in place. The one that they built together in hopes of leaving this space. With each brick, vividly coloured in green, absorbed by its thoughts and pervaded with red. Its light and the contrast between the two lands only grows stronger and pins the two down. One land starts losing the air it once had. That pain in the throat, the chewed grass and the light. The words that it had in store before, 'We can do this together' — but these words only dissipated. There were no wonders, no help from that hope. Only slow deterioration and destruction of its scope. Its rain falling down on the purple withered fronds, and corroding the ground, trying to reach its blemished core. The perpetrator returned back, after dismantling and shattering its only shelter, through that bridge, and sat stagnant in its corrupted land. This is the end. There is nothing else. This is the truth. And the bridge slowly faded away as if it was never there before, just to rise once again. Ripped, torn, shattered in pieces. Only a memory now, a picture.