Alanna Finnie

Jherica

Jherica walked along the Interstate Bridge alone; the sound of broken glass crunching beneath her steel toed boots echoing across the water, a gas mask on her face, and a Glock 17 pistol strapped to her hip. Every vehicle around her had their windows smashed and contents stolen ages ago. Graffiti covered the bridge- some childish, inappropriate words scrawled along the cars, while the words “THE PLANET IS DEAD” were repeated across the concrete. None of this bothered Jherica anymore. This is not the first time she crossed this bridge, and if everything goes as planned, it won’t be the last.