The Bridge

The old man rested his elbows against the rail of the bridge and contemplated the churning depths below. He was ready to be done with his problems.

He held the plastic card over the rail and let go. There. He would never be tempted to spend himself into so much debt again.

Sammy shivered under the thin blanket as the wind invaded his space under the bridge. Something sharp hit him in the forehead. He swore and searched among the rocks for the assailant.

A credit card, sent to him straight from the heavens. Sammy knelt and praised the Lord.

—Anna Zumbro