TITLE: THE CROOKED BRIDGE
GENRE: COMMERCIAL FICTION
Sidney Bidwell was a busy guy. He drove fast, but how else would you drive a Porsche with a boxer engine? He never looked up from his very important text message to see the box truck slow to a halt. Sidney never felt a thing, which (had it made the news report) would have led some who knew him to say it just proves life isn't fair. The delay on the bridge that morning was brutal.
Sidney stumbled through dense, dank fog. He heard whistling, and moved toward the melody.
“That's one hell of a turn, isn't it, Sidney?”
“Where am I?” Sidney said. The little man clasped Sidney's hand between his own.
“You died, Sidney…a few minutes ago.” Pushing his arm away, Sidney stepped back.
“I'm not dead!” Sidney shouted. “How could I be dead? Who the hell are you?”
“Calm down, Sidney. I'm dead, you're dead…what's the difference? You died on the bridge. I'm Patrick...and I'm your only friend now.” Patrick pulled a shiny silver clipboard from under his arm, and read aloud. “You're forty five. Divorced, two kids.”
Sidney could hardly breathe. “How do you know that? Where am I?” his voice cracked.
Patrick leaned toward him, and raised his brow. “Where do you think you are, Sidney?”
“Am I in heaven?” Sidney whispered. Patrick burst out laughing.
“Heaven? That's rich! A foggy day, and another prick thinks he's in heaven.”