Ink Magic

#27days27stories Prompt No. 2

Whenever I need perspective, I walk the bridge between two worlds. That's not a metaphor. The bridge at Canyon Creek is one of the few places I know where the worlds on either side of a portal are nearly identical. If I didn't know the beams held two sets of iron tracks, if I couldn't feel my atoms tingle as I crossed, I'd never know I'd left one world and entered another.

At the end of the bridge, before stepping onto solid ground, I paused and listened. Because the worlds weren't the same. Despite the matching vibrancy of the maple leaves in the fall to the shrill chirp of chickadees in the spring, I'd only heard a train whistle on one side of the parallel worlds. The other was eerie silent as if a ghost train haunted the tracks on moonlit nights.

Today I heard nothing but the whisper of water beneath my feet.