Words
On foggy days, the only bridge out of the city vanishes like unspoken words in a puff of smoke. Only when the sun climbs over the hills and shines on the lush green valley does the bridge, in its gothic splendor, appear again. No one in the city seems to mind. They have no reason to cross the bridge and head into overgrown forest that lies beyond. They have never seen the forest's lush green trees up close or felt the damp earth beneath their feet. The city provides them with everything they need, and they never leave. But now, I stare at the grey veil of where the bridge should be, waiting for the sun's rays.
As I wait for the warmth of the sun, I think about yesterday and how I was fired from the Need Factory. I had made something new, something people would want. It was golden brown on the outside, white, warm, and fluffy on the inside. When I ate it, it reminded me of my mom.
"I call it bread," I said to the foreman as he held the still-warm loaf in his rough, calloused hands.
The foreman didn't say a word. He just stood there in the middle of the factory floor holding my creation, staring at it until the whistle that signified the end of the shift pierced the air. He looked up at me. His eyes, pale blue eyes, were filled with tears.
"You're fired," He said.
"But I need this job," I replied.
"But we don't want you here," the foreman said.
The sun, now finished with its arduous climb up the hill, shines it's golden rays of light through a break in the stale gray clouds. The fog that had stolen the bridge is now nothing more than a hazy memory, but I know my time is short. Like the pain of regret, the fog is bound to return. I walk swiftly across as soft rain falls around me. My goal is the wall of trees and tangeled ivy straight ahead but halfway, my eyes begin to wander. I take a moment to gaze over the edge of the bridge, only to find a dark swirling void of water. Bottomless and endless, its ruthlessness knows no bounds. Looking at the void, I wave of loneliness washes over me, soaking into my core. It's cold and lifeless. I can only stand so much before I have to look away. It takes a minute to regain my focus and for the warth of life to return to me, and then I walk on.
As the bridge ends, I find myself staring at a wall of ivy and thorny bramble while trees flank me on both sides. Rain drips from lush green leaves, and the ground beneath my feet has turned to mud. I press on. I crawl through the bramble as thorns cut into my soft skin, but I don't stop. I keep slipping on wet moss and dead leaves until I reach a clearing on even ground and find an unusual sight. A hermit dressed in rags kneading dough as the smell of fresh-baked bread fills the air. Covered in mud and soaking wet, I make my way toward the hermit.
"Stop," the hermit said in a booming voice that startled a flock of birds.
"Go back to the city, there is nothing for you here," they said.
"But I have been to the city, and there is nothing there. But I have been to the city, and there is nothing there. But I have been to the city, and there is nothing there. But I have been to the city, and there is nothing there. But I have been to the city... and there is nothing there," I repeated.
Tears started to fall from the old hermit's face, but they didn't say a word. The two of us just stood there taking in the smell of freshly baked bread.
"But we don't need you here," finally said the hermit.
Defeated, I left. The smell of the bread fades from my senses as I wander aimlessly in the forest. Without realizing it, I had made my way back to the bridge, but I'm unsure of where to go. I'm unwanted in the city of needs and not needed in the forest of wants. The rushing sound of the water from the void below fills the air while the fog slowly rolls in.