The Bridge

He had stayed up until dawn the night before, sketching his idea. The bridge would solve so many problems. No longer would people have to scurry down and clamber up the walls of the massive canyon to get from one village to another. No longer would food and supplies be lost down that crevasse. The brigands and thieves of the canyon would be hard pressed to ply their trade in such open territory. But first, he had to be sure it would work.

As he pushed aside the blanket and stretched in the noonday sun, he mentally scrutinized his blueprint. He could remember every detail perfectly. The first realization had been that it was possible to span such a gap. The canyon was both wide and deep, it was impossible to build piles all the way down to the water below, the water was to strong, the distance too far, the conditions too perilous.

He felt a surge of pride as he considered his idea of a single span bridge, with no pillars or other supports, just a single simple arch accross the pit.

The sun shone into his workroom, where he had planned and tested so many schemes. Blue prints covered the walls, scraps of wood and tools lay everywhere, glistening in the light. He pulled back his chair, his eyes going to the desk before him.

The plans were destroyed.

They had been burned, the ashes lay in place of the plan that would have meant so much. In the middle of the remains a note was pinned to the table, a spike deeply driven into its once pristiine surface.

"Dear Solver,

Some problems are best left alone. Save your talents for other matters.

- A Friend"

His body tensed in frustration, anger at whoever had written this.

The brigands that haunt the canyon would lose much be such a bridge. But he swore, then and there, on the tools of his trade, that he would build it, alive or dead.