The Event on Father Matthew Bridge

The Event on Father Matthew Bridge

Howling wind whipped between the buildings of Dublin. It had been hours since the sun had dropped below the horizon, and the temperature had followed suit – falling to near record lows.

The River Liffey ran through the center of the sprawling Irish metropolis; its waters were choppy, and thrashed wildly against the northern and southern banks of the city. The water was near freezing, and moved quickly down its channel; flowing eagerly towards the Irish Sea, which divided Ireland from the United Kingdom. Trees had been planted on either side of the river in random locations, and made the streets look more natural and appealing.

Claire Dempsey stood on the Father Mathew Bridge, leaning against the rough stone rails that stretched across the walkway. She watched the waters of the river below rush through the three arched openings of the crossing. She wondered how far the current would carry her body if she were to let herself fall over the railing, and what it would feel like to splash down into the murky blackness. She didn’t normally have such grotesque thoughts, but Claire had reached a mental breaking point that no twelve-year-old should ever reach.

Her red hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail. Wispy bangs hung over her forehead, tickling her face as they moved in the breeze. Claire’s skin looked milky white under the glow of the full moon, and was amplified by the dark colors of her punkish outfit.

A red and black checkered skirt hung around her thighs, which transitioned into a black top that fit snugly against her upper body. Black leather boots covered her feet, and came almost up to her knees – leaving a few inches of goose bumped skin exposed between the bottom of her dress, and end of her footwear.

Her left cheek was bruised, and the flesh around her green left eye was swollen.

Claire fought back tears that were welling up in the pits of her eyes. Her nose was growing stuffy, making it difficult for her to breath. Tremors shook her legs, making her feel unstable on her own two feet. Her entire body felt broken and corrupt.

The memories of the past few hours were flashing through her mind. She was unable to think of anything else but the pain and betrayal from her step-father; a betrayal so filthy as to demand retribution and vengeance. But such vengeance was beyond the scope of a pre-teen, who was a twig compared to her overweight, pig of a guardian.

“The water is almost inviting isn’t it?” purred a smooth voice. “But it wouldn’t feel very good to take a swim this time of year.”

Claire spun around on the heels of her boots, her red pony tail whipping from behind her head and slapping her on the face. A woman stood on the other side of the narrow bridge watching her. She was leaned against the railing, her arms folded under her breasts, with a look of curiosity on her face.

The woman wore a black vest with a black undershirt. Dark cotton pants clung to her legs, and a pair of worn padded shoes covered her feet. A large black trench coat hung from the woman’s shoulders, and dangled just above her ankles. Her head was topped with a large brimmed hat, which cast dark shadows over her face. Her oily black hair was braided, and lay over her left shoulder. Gold clasps ran the length of the braids, glittering under the bright moonlight.

“Who are you?” asked Claire in a thick Irish accent.

“My name is Aeliana,” said the woman, moving a few slow paces toward Claire. Her arms gently moved with each step, matching the rhythmic sway of her hips. She held up her hands, exposing her palms to Claire. “I mean you no harm, child.”

Claire eyed the woman cautiously. “I can tell from your voice that you’re a foreigner. Don’t you know it’s dangerous in the city at night?”

Aeliana smiled and put her hands down. “I could tell you the same thing, young girl.”

“It’s safer for me out here than at home,” said Claire. As the words came out of her mouth, tears began to drip from her eyes. She could never have imagined that she would feel more safe standing on the Matthew Bridge at night, in the presence of some mysterious woman. “Just leave me alone, ok.”

“I’ve never been accused of being responsible,” said Aeliana. “But to leave a young woman alone on a bridge in the middle of the night seems like a gross negligence on my part - especially when that girl looks to be entertaining suicidal thoughts.”

“What the hell do you know of my thoughts?” burst Claire. “Some sort of psychic are ya – maybe just a simple gowl? It’s none of your business why I’m out here.”

Aeliana’s face didn’t betray the slightest hint of anger. If anything her expression became more soft, and sympathetic. “You’re right,” she said. “It’s none of my business why you’re standing on this bridge in the middle of the night. But, I do happen to be psychic.”

“You’re very quare,” said Claire. “Prove your talents then. What number am I thinking of?”

“Twelve,” said Aeliana.

Claire shook her head. “Wrong. I wasn’t thinking of a number. I was thinking of a color.”

Aeliana shrugged her shoulders, and smiled. “I never said I was a good psychic.”

On reflex Claire grinned. Something about the woman was soothing. After a moment Clair realized the woman’s mannerisms reminded her of her mother, who had died last year. “Maybe you should try for a different profession than psychic-nighttime-bridge-therapist.”

Aeliana stepped next to Claire, who hadn’t realized how tall the woman was until she was next to her. The sweet smell of cinnamon invaded Claire’s nose, and reminded her of cookies she used to eat when she was a little girl. The smell was coming from Aeliana in waves, helping to calm Claire’s nerves.

“What happened to your swollen cheek?” asked Aeliana. She let her long thin finger gently trace the outline of Claire’s facial bruise. Claire almost pushed her hand away, but was so desperate for any source of comforting affection she allowed the woman's gentle touch. Aeliana took off her trench coat, and wrapped the thick fabric around Claire’s body to help warm her. “I think I already know what happened. But I think it would help you emotionally if you talked about it.”

“My stepdad happened,” said Claire. She worked her jaw around, which was something she did when trying to control her emotions. She didn’t want to tell anyone about what had happened to her -but she knew that if she talked to someone it would help. “Ever since my mom died he has been extra friendly with me.” She looked up into Aeliana’s face, who was nodding her understanding. “Tonight I couldn’t take any more of his ‘kindnesses’. I fought him. He hit me. I ran.”

“And now here you are,” said Aeliana.

“Here I am.”

Aeliana eyed Claire thoughtfully. Her face was full of compassion, and kindness. She knelt down, and put her arms around Claire’s thin body. Warmth flooded outward from Aeliana, which surprised Claire since she was without her coat.

“Claire,” said Aeliana. “When I was a young girl I was in a similar situation. But I was rescued, and taken to a very special place. I was taught how to protect myself, and never be a victim again. Would you like to go with me to a place like that?”

“I wish a place like that existed,” said Claire. “I really do.”

“It does,” said Aeliana. “I know of a place where miraculous things happen…. where you will never have to be afraid again.” Aeliana stood up, and held out her hand. “But it takes an act of faith on your part. If you take my hand, I promise you that I’ll take you away from this horrible nightmare you’ve been living in. I’ll give you the tools to fight back against those who would hurt you. But you have to take my hand.”

Claire looked at Aeliana’s thin hand, her fingers wiggling towards her.

Only a few minutes ago Claire had been contemplating death. Now she was seriously considering the possibility of a place where she could be safe, and free of the constant violations from a man who was supposed to love her. Aeliana had given Claire something she had lost long ago…. Hope.

Claire reached out her hand, and intertwined her fingers in Aeliana’s. A quick flash of light filled the night, briefly driving the shadows away. When the light vanished, it left behind an empty Father Matthew Bridge.

I sure hope you add more to this. I want to know about the magical place.

a reply to: onehuman

Hey there -

Thanks for taking the time to reply. I am, ATTEMPTING, to write a book. This was simply a character development piece.

Claire is one of the main characters in the book, along with her mysterious savior.

If I ever get the book published, I'll make sure to let you know what it is - if I ever get it written, haha.

a reply to: MentorsRiddle
Well to me, that is a very good start. The only critique I would give it, if you are going to present her as irish, you might want to add a little more to her brogue in print. Hope that made sense .

Dont fear the Reaper. An old song.

originally posted by: onehuman
a reply to: MentorsRiddle
Well to me, that is a very good start. The only critique I would give it, if you are going to present her as irish, you might want to add a little more to her brogue in print. Hope that made sense .

Honestly - I don't know a lot about Irish customs

I read a little bit about Ireland, and Wiki supplied the small details, haha.

a reply to: MentorsRiddle

Good stuff. If this is what you call character development, keep it up. Not exactly my cup of Irish whiskey, but the writing was solid.

I know (oh God I know) how hard it can be writing a novel. I have been working on my book for a little under a year now and only have a bit shy of 10,000 words, hahaha... sigh... I work on lots of different projects at once though, so I don't lose focus or get bored but along with that comes slow progress... but that's my style.

Good luck on your writing, you certainly got the chops for it!

a reply to: MentorsRiddle
I guess I was referring more to their accent, commonly known as the "Irish Brogue" lol maybe if you hung out in a Irish bar for a couple nights you would hear the music or the lilt to their sound! Or maybe read a Irish sonnet or something. Pay no mind to me though it was only a small critique. Like I said I really am hoping to read more of this story regardless of the rest

originally posted by: onehuman
a reply to: MentorsRiddle
I guess I was referring more to their accent, commonly known as the "Irish Brogue" lol maybe if you hung out in a Irish bar for a couple nights you would hear the music or the lilt to their sound! Or maybe read a Irish sonnet or something. Pay no mind to me though it was only a small critique. Like I said I really am hoping to read more of this story regardless of the rest

I agree. I thought the exact same thing when writing that piece. I wanted to include more of an Irish accent, but didn't have time when writing to listen to the dialect, etc. That's why you'll notice that I put in certain Irish slang words, which was my half-assed attempt to fake Irish "Brogue".