The Bridge With No Name by A.H.Sharm

Everyday, the Bridge with No Name bears the burden of a hundred assaults. Feet, paws, hooves and countless other creatures charge on the bridge. It has withstood all these and the ravages of nature, but it still stands. The question is, for how long?

Each day, the squeaking gets worse. Each day, a piece falls of the bridge. Oh…it is still considerably strong, but it is falling sure as the sun rises from the east.

The Bridge with No Name links two villages across a river almost half a mile wide. By now, thought most of the villagers on both sides, the Bridge should have already been named…but every name given to it has always been erased with time, as though the river flowing beneath it could not tolerate having a named entity above it.

The River brings life to the villages and the lands miles before and thereafter. The River itself has been given many names, yet none stuck. So if the River doesn’t have a name, how can the Bridge have one? It seems as though they were resentful of each other, the River and the Bridge. Sometimes, during the months where rain clouds take over the skies, the Bridge is submerged by the raging River. The villagers can hardly see it, and they stay away from the River, knowing that it is on a rampage. Anything will be swept away and swallowed.

At other times, the River is calm, docile and inviting, the bridge the perfect place for lovers to stand and admire the Moon and her reflection in the water. They make such a lovely pair, the villagers thought of the River and the Bridge with No Name. But the Bridge is constant, and cannot withstand the ravaging nature of the River as it breaks its banks and overflows, drowning livestock, destroying homes and sometimes taking lives of the villagers who love it albeit its capricious nature.

As for the Bridge, it has no choice. “I am a bridge, and this is what bridges are made for”. Linked against its will to stand over an unpredictable force, it stands patiently bearing the brunt of the River’s frequent brutality. At times, the villagers can hear the Bridge’s long sad sighs. The more sensitive souls among them feel the Bridge’s burden as though it was their own, but what can they do about it? They need the Bridge as much as they need the River. To them, the Bridge seems to say, “Let me go, it is better to collapse and disappear into chaos rather than be linked to a frenzied companion like you.”

The Bridge with No Name no longer objects to falling apart. It has given up hope. It no longer wishes to be walked upon. It is used for the villager’s own purposes, and is at the River’s mercy. Though strong and stable, it wishes it could crumble and be forever free. After all, who would really care? Another bridge would be built in time, and maybe, this new bridge would have a name. Just another bridge to be walked upon. Do the villagers even realize how vital the Bridge is?

No, every single creature takes the Bridge for granted. They see the Bridge as an inanimate, insignificant structure. There to facilitate their lives. So what can a Bridge do?

The Bridge decided that it would break free. No compromise, no patience. It would use the River’s own violent nature to break its bondage. Thus the Bridge with No Name began it own assault on the River. It would be a long and tedious game, and the Bridge hated games. It was a game with high stakes. The Bridge is staking its very existence, willing to buy freedom at its own expense – willing to exist no more.

The Bridge with No Name one day began its assault on the River. “How mellow you have become, how smooth and tame. Any human child can wade in and piss in you…”

The River, startled out of its banks, never thought for one moment that the Bridge was taunting it for its own purposes. It swells and churns and yells back, “You useless piece of wood, I have only TOLERATED your irritating presence over me till now. I’ll bring you down for good if you continue your senseless chatter. I’ll show you what I’m capable of”.

The surroundings became very still, the birds stopped singing and the bees stopped buzzing. The River summoned its element: more water. Rainclouds gathered, and along with Water came Wind. Strong Wind. The villagers ran into their homes, leaving their fields unattended. They knew a storm was brewing. A storm heralding a battle of wills.

The storm grew in size and strength, the River continued its mad swelling. It called out to Earth, and the ground shook. The Bridge with No Name reveled as the banks began to tremble and send jolts of force down its length. Big chunks of wood broke off from the Bridge. But still it was there.

Laughing now, the Bridge taunts the River further, “You call yourself a River? You’re nothing but a stream, a trickle. A human alchemist could make a better storm than that, and YOU call yourself an elemental? Go underground and hide like all the other tame trickles.”

The River raged. Its cohorts Wind, Water and Earth bound by nature to its aid, increased their assault on the Bridge. The banks shook the Bridge. It swayed as the Wind blew big pieces of it away. It rattled as the Earth ripped its foundations. It flags as Water washed away at where it was deeply rooted to the banks. On both sides of the banks, the Bridge weakens. As it weakens, it felt a joy it has never felt before. “Not so long now”, it thought. One more assault and it would crumble.

“I’m too strong for you River, you cannot destroy me,” was the last thing the Bridge with No Name screamed at the River. Beyond control now, the River gathered her last reserves and blasted at the banks, gouging out the Bridge from the ground it clings upon.
The Bridge began to cave in the middle. Creaking, swaying, trembling. It falls slowly into the River’s madness. The storm continues. The River’s fury unabated. The Bridge falls.

The villagers heard the Bridge with No Name collapsing. In each and every heart, a worry – how would we get across now? No thought was spared for the Bridge, only for themselves.

The Bridge loses itself in the mad embrace of the River. Shattered and battered, it lets bits and pieces of itself be torn apart. As it disintegrates into the crazy River, its last thoughts were “I am free”.

***
After the storm, an eerie calm settled upon the area. How ugly the banks look without the Bridge. Gouged-up earth, holes in the ground, like a desecrated graveyard. Battered trees, some even uprooted, some stripped of their barks. Wind, Earth and Water are still. River calm, but in the calm was there remorse?

“What have I done? I bragged to be the giver of life, yet I have stripped the villagers of the Bridge which they need for their livelihood. Oh yes, they will build another bridge in time, but it would not be the same old friend that has been with me and endured my caprices silently for so long…what have I done?” laments the River.

Slowly, the villagers came out of their homes to witness the River’s brutality. They looked at it with disrespect. For the villagers, now that the Bridge was gone, the Bridge was a friend, and the River suddenly became their enemy. Silly villagers, valuing the Bridge only after it has disappeared. Well, they will learn their lesson in time, as they build a new bridge for themselves, and not take for granted their own efforts.

After many months, the Bridge with No Name became sorely missed as the villagers tried without success to build one in its place. The banks and the earth around the same area were loosened; so badly damaged by the storm that no solid foundation could be built upon those shores. Furthermore, the River that runs through it does its very best to bring down any structure that was built. Soon the River became known as bad luck.


***

Hundreds of miles away, where the River was joined by other bigger rivers, bits and pieces of wood littered the banks of other villages. These villagers gathered these wet soggy pieces of valuable wood. They found good use for the wood in one way or another – to repair leaking roofs; drafty walls; make a small chair or table out of it. Soon the Bridge with No Name became a part of households miles away from its origins. It is said that the “driftwood from the river” brought luck and fortune.

The Bridge of No Name had gained its freedom, and its spirit and benevolence cannot be drowned by a raging River.