The Bridge of Sighs

Oh, how they would mourn.

Those poor wretched fools.

To ripple the waters of La Serrenisima was to ruffle the feathers of the Council of Ten.

Their wrath, if felt on daylight, would see you absconded from work, family, life, and sent to the nether regions of the Ducal Palace.

The underbelly of the ‘Serene One’ was as dark, cramped and ungodly as St Mark’s Square is beautiful.

The removal from one’s family was not what would hurt most.

A person’a confinement in over-crowded, foul, freezing, cramped dungeon was not what would crush the souls of its inmates.

It was the idea that you had been ejected from the holiest, most wonderful of places was what the inmates regretted most.

That Eden itself had returned to Earth and, by your own stupidity, you had fallen from this great land.

The prison would pass through the courthouse, the judgement of their peers and across a single bridge.

From the bridge, each prisoner of Venice would take their final fleeting image of Eden. Through the gaps you could, once more, own a glimpse of the land of Gods.

And, with a sigh, you’d fallen.