Spirit of The Bridge

There was a Spirit of the Bridge, or so she was called. 

It was at the bridge by a lake in the winter that never froze, that people would jump into, hoping to end their lives on the nights where it was cold and the snow fell oh so peacefully.

I dare say that they tried to fall as peacefully as the snow. 

But in the end, there was nobody who ended up dying. Witnesses from far away say that they had seen those who had tried to fall as peacefully as the snowflakes, ended up jumping back on the other side of the bridge. The side where they were safe, away from the possibility of a fall. 

Yes, people always tried to talk them out of it, and as usual for the people who tried to jump, they would threaten to jump if anyone came near them. 

These people who watched though, would always back away in horror the moment they would see the one who was to jump, looking to their left side, and always their left side and having a conversation because…

...there was The Spirit of The Bridge. 

The first was a woman, whose name's anonymous, she had a man, a husband, who had broken it off with her for he had fallen in love with another. 

“I just can’t live with the sadness this has brought me. I simply must become one with the snowflakes that fall so peacefully on the river’s bed.” 

And people would think that the periods of silence between the conversations was the result of the spirit thinking for a bit on what to say. 

“Well,” The spirit would finally say, but only the woman could hear. 

“At least you’ve never had someone stolen from you at the hands of the grim reaper. That is more unforgiving.” 

The woman continued to talk to seemingly ‘empty air’ beside her, saying, 

“Aren’t the hands of the living stealing someone away more tragic? You must live to see them being stolen, you must live to see them taken away.”

“That is true…” The spirit said. 

“But at least you can watch them. Their happiness, you should make it yours. Learn how to make it yours. You have shared memories, and now they make their happy ones, as you should too. Learn to move on. They too should learn how to make your happiness theirs.  At least you can still talk to them about it. It’s better than talking to a plain ol’ gravestone, am I right?”

The woman stood up and jumped back to the safe side of the bridge, shakily, crying. 

“I’m feeling better, thank you for listening. But before I go, may I have your name?”

The spirit would simply smile and say, 

“I’m simply: The Spirit of The Bridge.”

Then the spirit, according to those who had witnessed her, would jump off the bridge, only to vanish into thin air.

Vanish into thin air she did, but people’s problems did not. 

There was a young boy, in the dead of night, when nobody could see him, at the bridge. He had snuck out, holding some school papers, picking at some bandages on his forehead. 

Then, the spirit appeared. 

“Yes, child? Whatever might you be here for?”

“I feel lonely and ignored in class. Everyone ignores me, everyone steals my things, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The Spirit of The Bridge hugged him in the dead of night. Her presence felt so real, as she thought. 

He could almost feel the warmth of her breath as she breathed so close to him, or the warmth of her arms as she wrapped them around him. Alas, she was a spirit, so none of these were really there. 

“Well, you go home every night, right? What’s it like?”

The boy answered:

“Well mama greets me, and papa hugs me, spinning me around…”

The boy started to realize what the spirit was doing. 

“Mama’s making soup for dinner, and though we’re poor, she makes the best soup ever.” He then managed to smile through tears. 

“Well, even if you’re bullied and such, you still have a home right? You still have a papa and mama who love you very much, and there’s always a hot dinner waiting for you, right? Learn to smile at the simpler things. Look at what others do for you so nicely first, before you look at what others do to you that are bad.”

The boy smiled and jumped back to the other side of the bridge, where he was safe. Tears still rolling down his cheeks, the spirit smiled back at him. 

“See? You’re smiling. What a fighter. Stay strong, and don’t let your mama and papa cry, ok?”

“Ok! But wait! Can I have your name?”

“You don’t need it. I’m simply…

...the Spirit of the Bridge.”

Then, she would vanish into thin air.

On days that there was a man, woman, little girl, little boy, by the bridge, the spirit would await them with a, “Hey. What’s up? What are you here today for?”

She talked to so many. Countless people had wanted to jump off on wintery days and nights. She’d dare say that she had saved over a thousand people at this point. 

People were deemed mad when they said that they had seen the ‘Spirit of The Bridge’. 

Then, one day, there was a little girl. Around the age of six, wanting to jump. 

A girl at the age of six, SIX! Wanting to become one with the snowflakes. 

The spirit sat on her left. 

“Heyo. How can I help you?” 

“My classmates are the problem.”

Ah, she was much like the little boy. 

“They bully me, and getting home is no better.” 

The spirit, having heard this, looked at the girl more intently, with a slight furrow of her brow, and asked “Why?”

“Mama and papa fight, and I have to protect my younger brother and sister.” 

The spirit had a quick answer. She knew she had to make it quick. Children had a short attention span, and the six-year-old might wish to become a snowflake, falling peacefully, even before she finished. 

“Well, let adults be adults. Know what they do wrong, and don’t be like them when you’re a big girl. Stay alive. Who’ll protect-”

“That’s not what I want to hear from you, ‘Miss Spirit of The Bridge!’ One of the older boys in my school from years ago said that when he talked to you, you gave sound advice, but that’s not what I’m getting now!” 

The spirit of the bridge was taken aback.

Yes, when she was alive she never had family problems. Far from that actually. She had a very happy and content family who loved her very much. 

“I have nothing to give you, little one. But please…”

For the first time in years, the spirit’s voice cracked as she began to cry herself, her tears as real as a normal human’s, dripping down onto the bridge. 

“Don’t become a snowflake.”

The little girl looked at her.

“You know what, I suppose I felt better after talking to you.”

She knew the girl wouldn’t jump out of pity for her, yet she was relieved. 

Tonight, she had saved another life.

“Just promise me something, Miss Spirit of The Bridge.”

“Anything”

“Be here, so I can talk to you whenever. Stay here forever.”

“Sure thing.” The spirit promised, eyes still wide, tears rolling down her cheeks.”

Tears rolling down her cheeks, 

Tears rolling down my cheeks. 

For who exactly was The Spirit of the Bridge?

It was me. 

I never became one with the snowflakes for I died in a bad neighborhood where someone shot me, mistaking me for someone else. 

It was at that moment that I realized that not everyone wanted advice. Some people just want someone to listen to, someone to talk to. 

“We have a deal, ok, Miss Spirit?”

I hugged her one last time before she walked away. 

“Of course, dear child.”

And then I vanished into thin air.

You have problems, I have problems. 

But don’t let them allow you to be one of the snowflakes that fall so peacefully to the ground, yet hitting hard. 

Don’t let them be your end.

Through a screen we have met, but consider me as your ‘Spirit of The Bridge.’ 

I might not know you, you might not know me. We could be as different as can be. But just know, no matter how far, I’ll accept you for whoever you are. 

Until we meet again. 

I shall now vanish. 

Now, you know almost nothing of me. I am…

Simply Me, The Spirit of The Bridge. 

Now, into thin air, I vanish.