“Think you’d survive if you jumped?” Andrea asked me, looking at me with sorrow in her eyes. We both looked down at the ground laying underneath. The forest was finally starting to come back after the tornado hit four years prior.
“Probably just enough to bust your ankles, I guess. I don’t think you’d actually die.” I replied after pulling myself out of my head. We rolled a joint for the walk. Often we found ourselves back in this spot. After each storm came and went, this was one of the last remaining havens to be able to come to, after all the dust finally settled. The bridge had been decommissioned for years when the first storm had hit. The years had taught us to be prepared for the worst. Andrea lit the joint and inhaled.
“Beats staying here, waiting for the next storm.” She coughed as she exhaled, passing it to me.
“Isn’t that the truth.” I laughed.
This is a response to Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers, graciously hosted by Priceless Joy. Photo provided by Dawn M. Miller.