They met on the old path just over the river. A grey light lingered about them, like the air of a day on the point of rain.
“I didn’t think it’d be this soon,” he said. He stood wavering by the bridge railing, looking down at the flowing water.
“I gathered that from my review,” Winifred replied, her voice not unkind. Unlike other angels, she carried no sword. She didn’t need to, here.
“You know that might affect…well, what happens. Destination-wise.”
“Yeah,” he said, laughing shortly. “Yeah, I know.”
They both looked at the running water for a long while. Then Winifred offered a question. “Could you have done better? With more time? Different circumstances, perhaps?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I really…I don’t know. If this had happened or that had happened…I… I don’t know.”
“I see,” Winifred said. She had been carrying a folder with a single paper inside. Now, quietly, she made a small note on the paper with a golden pen and closed the folder, putting it away inside a fold of her off-white cloak. “Well, we’d better get on then, hadn’t we?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. We’d better.”
The angel took his arm, and slowly they walked down the bridge and along the path beyond, into the endless night.
This was written based on
‘s prompt: write about an old bridge.