Bridge

BRIDGE Almost dark and as near as we dare goto the terrible onward of thundering machinery.Kneeling on the near slope black with creosote, burnt brush, with the monster coming on and on, panic rising. We held it; it thumped in our throats to get out, run; held it as the tonnage bellowed past with endless clanking rumble of truck on truck. The men in the cab stoking, wrestling with switches, levers.And from this night-terror near-sentient machinery,shot smoke, fire, transmuting to sparkscascading down its spine. One landed nearby; did not acknowledge us,landing as if by supernatural agency —a silver ducat from another world’s treasury.I watched till it assumed a body fit for our world;but even then this least of gifts scorched my fingers. ©All material copyright, cannot be copied, nor any part used in any way without permission.Michael Murray 2026.