The Bridge

Must they come calling during my meditation time? Life is too burdensome as it is without interrupting the only time I have to myself to sort through all the strands of life that entangle me. What is it this time? A dispute between a wealthy merchant and a street urchin caught pilfering in an attempt to stave off hunger, or perhaps a collective wishes to thrash the owner of their apartment complex because they think he’s responsible for the terrible condition they’ve allowed their dwellings to become? Always the same thing, one has a dispute with the member of a caste either above or below their own station in life, and can not negotiate a settlement on their own due to the strict segmentation of our lives, which brings them all to me and my fellow Bridges, a caste apart, with no actual status at all, but an obligation to travel up and down the strata of the community, treating each according to their own, and resolving the complaint usually to no ones satisfaction. If only they could schedule these conflict, but I suppose my life is not my own. I, Bridge Terramaine, am bound by them all.