They Knew Me from the Bridge

These sentient creatures are a curious bunch. They gather together and yet feel alone. They develop technology yet still walk with sticks. They move upon vehicles than no longer require horses, yet they still walk.

They could record with these things called "cameras", but they report more with their testimonies. I was one of those testimonies.

I made my home in this nation that was building over the scars of a recent world war with great buildings that towered over streets and bridges that spanned the width of even the largest rivers. Within the span of twenty years, so much had changed in their approach on creating their structures; some of it was progressive, and some of it was ahead of its time. However, there were also regressions that came about either due to poor maintenance or poor material management. Funny that I, of all the beings in this world, would use the term "management", but if ants could apply such, then I and my own can understand it; it was a shame that these sentient beings didn't, or everything terrible could have been avoided at Point Pleasent.

There was a bridge. A silver bridge. At least, that's what these sentient creatures called it. When it was completed, I would leave my home in some abandoned bunker and fly over to it, marveling at its wonder and even roosting on its towers. It was like sitting on top of a great sculpture, both a wonder of engineering and a piece of art that, foolishly, I assumed would last forever. For nearly four decades, this metallic miracle served the sentient creatures as it allowed for the transportation of their vehicles and persons, carrying and even dragging their work from one place to another, allegedly going to create more creative constructions. While this went on, I would fly above it all and even make a game of guessing where each vehicle was going and what its occupants would be doing based on said transport.

I noticed the crack.

They were called "eyebars", and they were supposed to help the bridge with tension. I and my people could see how it worked in a way the other sentient individuals couldn't (even though they created it), and we could "hear" how well a structure was built, hence coining the term "soundly built" for such (the sentient individuals would borrow this and forget where it came from). One of these "eyebars" had developed a crack due to wearing and, later, tearing as well as corrosion. This couldn't be seen with the normal eyes of the sentient individuals, but my people and I could "hear" the crack forming. If this continued, it would spell catastrophe upon all. The decision was made; I had to warn them!

But how?

Our form is not something that these sentient creatures would understand. It was similar in shape to them, yet it was also designed to fly, even to glide or float down. If I had to compare ourselves to any other being aside from the sentient creatures, I would compare us to the insects that were called "moths". Yes, we have wings and antennae, and we even have dark eyes, but I promise that we are not easy to squish! Far from it, we are powerful in our own right. But we are also humble, even discreet, knowing that the sentient creatures would gaze upon us in amazement and fear. It was that dread of something that they didn't recognize which makes the first reason why I couldn't just approach them.

The second is our language. Now, you might be telling yourself, "Hold up! You're telling us this story in English!", and you are correct. Understand, we can speak English, but it's the way that we speak it that would drive the sentient creatures into a frenzy, maybe even a full-on stampede. Our voices are described as something terrifying to those creatures; they called it "demonic", which we find insulting. Yet, on the rare occasion that we do try to communicate with them, all they do is seize up in fear and run. We follow them, trying to call them back with a whistle, but they mistake it for a screech and panic even more, running faster until they arrive to one of their homes and bolt it against us. We try once more to speak to them, even in their own house, with a simple acoustic illusion that is formed by ultrasound from within our bodies on organs that lie atop our lungs, but then they start calling for beings known as "priests" and "police". The flashing lights from the vehicles as well as the reflections coming off of the metal crosses tend to drive us away.

I had to try another way. Perhaps they would respond if I was physically there at the bridge?

I started off small, appearing to a few cars and even to those walking on foot. I would hover above the bridge, then dive down and turn right back up. There would be indications to the very spot that had the crack, usually with my presence diving towards it, pulling back, and circling around to dive at it again. Unfortunately, this startled the creatures and sent them away.

Of course! I couldn't draw them to the damage, but my presence might be enough to deter them to the point that they could, nay, SHOULD shut down the bridge! But I couldn't stop every single passing car, even with my image being in sight. Suddenly, it dawned on me; why not appear to the creatures at both ends in person? If they see me near the bridge, perhaps they would be too scared to cross; they would view me as a monster, but they would be safe. I flew to implement my plan, finding groups of the younger ilk of the sentient creatures either on foot or sitting inside of their stilled vehicles. I wouldn't speak, but I would linger long enough that they would see me and become afraid. My intentions were never ill, mind you, but I had no other way to keep them from crossing the bridge.

And do you know what happened? MORE CAME!

This is the most confusing trait of the sentient creatures; I appear in a motion to indicate that something was wrong, being very specific about the area that I kept returning to, and they merely speed away. I come to them, up close and personal to drive them away, and they end up bringing in more people to see me! Pretty soon, they had brought what I could only assume were families and friends, more of those police and priests, and even these groups called "media" holding large boxes with glass eyes while one of them holding a tube talks in front of it. Not one of them were here for the bridge; they were all so busy speaking about "the moth man".

This went on for nearly a year. Then, I heard it. I felt it. And finally, to my horror, I saw it.

Crack. Crack. CRUNCH!

One eyebar failed. Then another. The suspension failed. The two towers that once held firm soon collapsed. What was once a platform was now suddenly sinking as if Hell had opened its maw. Almost three dozen of the creature's vehicles had gone under the water; from where I had been perched at the trees bordering the river, I could detect over two-score heartbeats racing in fear and then silenced. I flew over there as fast as I could, hoping to help them, but it was too late, and I had to keep my distance or risk being caught in the wreckage or in the water. To this day, I could never forget their screams and cries for help; not even the groans and crashes of the twisted metal and crushing rubble could overcome their sounds of terror.

Nine survived but were injured. I couldn't go to them, for who could tell if I would make thing better or worse. For all I knew, they would blame me for the collapse. Later, I would learn that I wasn't held accountable except as a possible "omen", which is ridiculous as I was trying to warn them in the first place! The shadows of the forests near that bridge could hide me from any of the prying eyes seeking me out afterwards, but that same darkness could never cover up the guilt that I felt. My colleagues would remind me that it wasn't my fault, but the dead never found rest in my mind.

I needed to leave this place, this Point Pleasent. I heard of a city that lied across the ocean in a quieter country, a city called Chernobyl. Maybe I'll find peace of mind there.