Forgiven

¶ She watched, as traffic sped below her. She had been watching the news, reading the forums. She knew that the bridge over the river was going to collapse. No one else understood. No one listened.

¶ So, she set her dominoes in place.

¶ Two hours prior, she had placed a pencil on top of a public trashcan across the river. In just a few minutes, the Large Man on his way to work would toss his sandwich wrapper in, as always.

¶ Here and now, on top of the building with the external fire stairs, she watched as the 47B bus made its way up the street. She contemplated the brick she had broken off the building, hefting it to feel the weight. She knew exactly when and where to throw it, but she still needed to aim properly.

¶ In her mind, she saw the large man tossing his wrapper in the trash. Here and now, she threw the brick.

¶ A few seconds later, there was a terrible metallic thud, and the 47B swerved wildly, blocking the road. Across the river, she saw traffic across the bridge slow to a trickle, as her pencil had spun out the loose front wheel of the cement truck on its way to the yard.

¶ Traffic on the bridge trickled, and stopped. And then, over the sound of sirens and horns of emergency vehicles, came the almighty roar of a dying titan, as the bridge collapsed into the river below.

¶ As she walked down the stairs, she instinctively knew she caused as many as fifty injuries. And five, maybe six, deaths. Far fewer than if they'd been on the bridge. Not many would forgive her for that.

¶ But she forgave herself. She always did.