The Magic Bridge

‘You will have to calculate the path you can take to cross the bridge.’

‘Why?’ I felt amused; grandpa had not stopped treating me as a little kid. I was grown up; I was fourteen.

‘It’s a magic bridge; if you are erratic in your path you will face dire consequences.’

‘Grandpa, there are no magic trees and magic bridges in the real world.’ I was proud of my awareness.

At that moment a young man came on his cycle; he was headed for the bridge.

‘You don’t believe me; just wait and watch. That fool of a boy will regret crossing the bridge on a cycle,’ grandpa said with some flourish.

I looked at the man on the cycle; he was half way through and nothing untoward had happened.

Suddenly the cycle overturned and I missed a heartbeat.

The man got up and laughed a bit loudly.  He had hit a stone lying on the bridge. No damage had been done. He rode away on his cycle.

The grandpa pouted at me and said almost is despair, ‘It never happened that way.’

I felt sad for the old man and hugged him.

**********

A post for Three Word Wednesday and FFfAW

Word count 193