Excerpt: Burning Bridges is a Form of Suicide

What ever I thought as I walked back into my dark room. My head had been in freeze mode ever since things had unraveled. No one could understand why I had done it why I had tried to. But I hadn’t! I did nothing I was just a bystander taking pictures of things that I probably wasn’t supposed to. That dark night on the bridge in the dead of winter. The flames roaring up swelling pulling me towards them making me want to touch them. I shook my head making the images go fuzzy and then disappear. I shuttered and sat down on my paper covered bed knocking off half the papers in the process. They think I’m crazy but what I saw was really there. “Maybe I had been known to lie but why would I lie about something like this?” I would ask them. I saw him there; he was the one who set the bridge on fire. He was running from something I don’t know what. They told me to stop thinking about it and tell them why I was there standing on the railing. Was I going to jump? I was the one who set the fire. I had a lighter in my hands. There where no more questions after that and the let me go back to “my room” but it wasn’t mine none of it was mine.