The Tangi Bridge
by KM Zafari
Copyright 2013
KM Zafari
https://thebatinthehat.com
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Published by
Zwoodle Books
Phoenix, AZ
https://zwoodlebooks.com
Cover art designed by KM Zafari, who gratefully acknowledges contributions from
https://frostbo.deviantart.com/
https://www.obsidiandawn.com/
https://faeth-design.deviantart.com/
https://midnightstouch.deviantart.com/
https://shutupandwhisper.deviantart.com/
Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
A Note from the Author
Dedication
“The Tangi Bridge”
Also by KM Zafari
About the Author
a note from the author
I do not impose an expiry date on my work for schools or libraries, nor do I believe in charging more to such institutions for my work. Although I understand the thought process behind such actions, the financial motives are, to me, insufficient to justify them – particularly when weighed against the benefits of education to society.
Whenever possible, I am happy to provide low-income or at-risk schools copies of my work, free of charge. Please contact me with any questions or requests.
I also believe in the free sharing of thoughts, information, and ideas. As such, I encourage derivative works (especially from young people). For example, readers could turn this story into a cartoon, write another piece of fiction that takes place in this world, or perform it as a play, etc. In fact, I would be honored if anyone were to do so. (Share them with me? Maybe I’ll put them on my site!)
All I ask is that you credit me, KM Zafari, as the source – and that these works do not involve ANY expression of hate or discrimination (as determined by me), such as hate speech, political agendas, or the espousing of any group, race, disability, nationality, sexuality, or religion, etc., as being superior to another. I have a zero-tolerance policy on this.
I can be reached at https://thebatinthehat.com
I write for you, dear reader. None of this would exist without you.
The Tangi Bridge
He didn't always see them jump, but the sounds were unavoidable. Some screamed on the way down; some went in dignified silence. But their lives always ended the same - with a loud, sickening splash.
A few chose to go at it alone, but most were grateful for his presence in their final hours. Several talked at length of their lives, although many were content to simply sit quietly beside him until dawn. Then, after steadying their nerves, they launched themselves off the creaking, wooden bridge and into the water below.
He had been told never to watch, but he always did. How could he not? The least he could do, he felt, was to be with them in those final, fleeting moments so they knew that they hadn't been alone, that someone would remember them.
Those who accepted the calling - really accepted it - went without fear. They were the fortunate ones, their calmness and serenity helping them recall what they had long been taught in school - how to hit the water at the ideal obliquity required for the fastest and least painful death.
The screamers were much harder to watch.
They frequently flailed on the way down, hitting the water, hard as stone, at an odd angle, crushing most of their structural bones. Survival instincts always kicked in, and they would splash around in a panic - helpless, thrashing sacks of broken limbs.
Whether they succumbed to the cold water or invisible injuries, eventually, they stilled, often floating in pools of dissipating wine as the impartial river swept their bodies out to sea.
He had seen a sufficient number of jumpers over the years to know which way he would rather go, were one of the random, anonymous letters to arrive inscribed with his name.
The night shift was the worst. Forbidden from saying goodbye to their families and friends, most of the jumpers chose to leave in the middle of the night, while the remainder of town was still lost in restless slumber.
There was not a family among them that did not spend the months subsequent to each new birth in constant worry, and the requisite silence prevented the sort of harrowing, emotional goodbyes as could create ripples of doubt in the logic of what they were doing - of what had to be done. This way, by the time morning came, it was too late.
Their loved one was already gone.
Jumpers were the silent, unsung heroes of their small, secluded isle of limited means, the honoring of whom would be too constant, too fresh, so most became little more than ghosts of the Tangi Bridge that everyone hoped to forget.
He remembered them all - some with more clarity than others, but every face, every name, every denouement they had shared was with him while he patrolled the long, quiet bridge on this cold and bleary night.
His lantern was all but useless as it cast a scattered glow upon the fog that hovered in the space between niveous drifts, and midnight had passed by the time he caught glimpse of a faint trail of tiny footprints that were fading into the snow.
He followed solemnly.
A dark form began to take shape in the mist, and he was able to discern the halcyon figure of a young woman, her long skirts thick with petticoats, staring out across the water.
"Hallo," he said. "Are you all right?"
She had a gentle smile, and there was kindness in his eyes.
They spent hours together, strolling arm in arm in the glistening snow, talking and laughing as if they had known each other their entire lives, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be on the bridge together this night - as if they weren't simply biding the time until her death.
The arrival of dawn the next morning was especially cruel.
But there was nothing to be done.
He held her dainty, gloved hand, diminutive and shaking, as she lifted up her petticoats, knee-high, and climbed over the top of the railing. Her feet dangled there for a moment before she slid down to the other side, trembling, her eyes keenly fixed on the loud rush of water below.
His pulse quickened, his throat tightening as the brisk air bit into his lungs. Had it been this cold all night? He leaned in suddenly, wrapping his arms around her. "Promise you won't scream," he said, his voice scarcely more than a whisper.
She managed a small shake of her head. "I won't." She turned to face him, her small, trusting hands steady in his, the soft, fallen tendrils of her upswept hair blowing gently in the cold, bitter wind.
She was shivering now.
They stared into one another's eyes, each trying to live a lifetime in that moment. He bowed his head in reverence and pressed his lips to each of her hands before letting go.
The law was the law. But, for the first time in his life, it felt horribly unfair.
###
Also by KM Zafari
Jippā
This short horror story is based on a nightmare I had some time back.
Excerpt:
No one believed him that the monsters were real. His uncle grew frustrated and impatient with the nighttime fears the boy should long have outgrown. His aunt was more sympathetic and well-i
ntentioned, but she dismissed them as being merely nightmares.
Only he knew that, at night, the truths always revealed themselves.
After the lights went out and all was dark, the silence of his room was broken by quiet scratching and moans. He covered his ears against the screeches, but they grew louder and louder until they filled the air, and he could feel them even in his lungs.
Then, when a scream threatened to burst forth from his throat, and he could bear it no longer, there was silence. Not one sound. It was the same disquieting nothingness as in a forest filled with animals that sensed a new predator.
The monsters were still, but he knew they were there.
He uncapped his ears and glanced at his little sister, asleep in the bed next to his. Quiet and undisturbed, she’d slept through it all. He envied her peaceful slumber; she always looked like an angel.
Then, there was another noise. Whispers. “She’s coming,” they said. “She’s coming. She’s coming.”
The Tears You’ll Never Cry
(a poem for mourning the loss of a child)
Written for the victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre. I pledge to donate 100% of the proceeds I receive from this poem to charities that support those who have lost children.
Nibbles (Bite-Sized Fiction for a Fast-Paced, Super-Sized World)
A collection of prose poems, Twitter-sized for your convenience.
Coming Soon
"The Executioner"
(short story)
A young journalist discovers more than he anticipated when he is sent to cover the county’s first electricide.
And more…
About the Author
KM Zafari has been writing for a very long time, but this is her first foray into publishing.
You can find out more about her at https://thebatinthehat.com or follow her on Twitter at https://twitter.com/thebatinthehat, where she often publishes free microfiction/prose poetry.
She is honored to have you read her work.
Thank you.