“It was really dark last night, but I’m pretty sure this is the place.” He peered around like it would be behind a rock. Everything was perfectly calm. The bright grass, little road, and wooden bridge were like something from a postcard.
“Stan,” I said, “if this was the place, we’d see it.”
“Not necessarily. The water’s pretty deep.”
I rolled my eyes. “How did it get in the water again?”
Stan shrugged. “Things happen.”
“Yeah. Generally for a reason.”
He shifted. “I was a little… inebriated. I thought I could make it if I got a running start and floored the acceleration. Take a short-cut past the bridge.”
I gave him my most you’ve-got-to-be-kidding stare.
“What?” he replied. “I almost made it.”
“And you’re sure it was here,” I said.
“Where there are no tracks in the grass. And no sign at all of a car in water that is, honestly, not that deep.”
After a few minutes silence, Stan looked at me.
“I think… this might not have been the bridge.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I think that too.”
We got back into my car and drove off to check the next bridge. I hoped this would be the right one. After six attempts, I was getting a bit annoyed.
Word Count: 198
This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Week #26. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge!