[ WP ] You are a guard on a bridge isolated in the middle of nowhere , despite the weather and conditions you still guard diligently . After a great deal of time someone comes and you realize , you do n't know what to do .

Normally, the view during my guard duty was pristine, but it was dampened by a heavy fog, which was quite a loss on the crisp autumn day. The bridge I was stationed on overlooked a forested hillside which I always described as “ an autumn rainbow ”. Friends and family, who I hadn ’ t seen in months, would explode with envy at the picture I kept in my wallet. It deceptively hid the dull grey bridge where I sat for the daylight hours of each day. A government job, and an easy one. With almost zero human interaction the stack of books I kept in my small, colorless post was the only thing that got me through the days. I would also let my mind wander and it would concoct all sorts of fantasies as to why the government cared about the protection of the bridge. The handgun that hung on my belt, given to me on my first day, helped to add spice to the stories. 
 
 I imagined myself fending off a giant river monster on its way to terrorize the town where I lived, which lay peacefully a few miles downstream. First I fired at the mouth but sharp metal-like teeth proved an effective shield. The bullets ricocheted off with rapid pinging noises that echoed through the surrounding forest. It ’ s tentacles reached up out of the water and grabbed onto the bridge. As it pulled itself up the metal construct groaned under the massive beast ’ s weight. I steadied my handgun with both hands, aiming for the dark red spot beneath it ’ s hungry, inviting mouth. I found my target and the monster fell backwards, into the water from where it came. It ’ s corpse slowly flowed downstream to the now safe town, where a cheering crowd will be sure to greet me. 
 
 As I flipped a page in my latest fantasy novel the ground began to shake. Instinctively I pulled my gun out of it ’ s holster and looked off the bridge into the water. It was expectantly calm. Movement appeared to the left and through the fog emerged a convoy of trucks. Snapping back to reality I turned myself and my attention towards the lead vehicle. Through the windshield I saw a tall muscular man who wore the same uniform as I. When he stopped a good distance from my post the rest of the convoy followed his lead. 
 
 “ Sergeant Mueller requesting permission to cross, code red government orders. ” 
 
 I was unprepared for anything beyond a nod of acknowledgment, the normal salutation for bridge-crossers. With an unpracticed salute I scrambled for a response. 
 
 “ Permission granted sir. ” 
 
 Without hesitation Mueller re-entered the truck and the convoy moved out. I watched from my post as they passed, vibrating the bridge as I ’ d never felt before. They traveled past me back into the fog revealing the sergeant's unusual cargo. Women and small children were crammed into the back of the trucks, all wearing nothing but tattered rags, painfully unprepared for the chilly autumn day. They met my stare with empty, solemn eyes. A few of them were crying, all of them were clutching their children in both arms. I didn ’ t have much time to question what I was seeing before the disappeared again into the fog. I considered it a blessing as I sat back down and re-opened my book, finding where I left off.
