The Bridge to House

My brother Bill and I were posing crazily for a photo for our parents before we started our trip to Miami, Florida - our favourite place to go for a holiday.

37 hours later, after the worlds longest game of Eye Spy, we made it. We headed to the house on the beach side, but first we had to cross an old flimsy suspended bridge to get over the deep trench  around the house. It creaked and swung and swayed. We  went inside and found out that there was no milk, so we all drove over the bridge again to get to the local store. It swung back and forwards like a pendulum on a grandfather clock as we drove across.

With two three litre milk cartons we started to head home. The view of the beach was amazing; all  different shades of yellow sand and  hints of orange shimmering on the crisp, clear blue water. The deep blue reached out then cascaded across the golden sand. We got to the house and were crossing the bridge when CRACK! We were falling into the trench. Our screams were heard everywhere. Even by the dead. We were stuck in the car underwater and the car was slowly filling up with the blemished water.