Creative Writing: Wooden Bridge

“Let’s do it” I said.
“Are you sure? What if we get caught?” replied my cousin Daniel.
“Come on what's the worst that could happen? It’s not like the park ranger even knows where we live” I said confidently.
The gravel on the road shot up into the air as our tires burned out for a split second, and sped off down the hill as fast as we could. Our goal, the bridge at the bottom of the slope, but there was something wrong about the bridge. The bridge had been completely submerged in over a foot of water and there were no rails to prevent you from falling into the lake. As our dusty bike tires approached the flooded wooden bridge we smashed our mountain bike brakes and drifted to a stop. The sign read “Bridge Flooded! Do Not Cross!”, but we both didn’t care much for the warning. As our bikes slowly made the their way into the water we realized a problem.

We could barely balance our bikes as we slowly rode across the bridge. It was the allege that had formed after the bridge had been flooded for so long. Slowly we approached the middle of the bridge. and we realize that the water level ahead of us was slowly rising and soon we would be pedaling through the water itself.
After a few feet of gliding, we finally both came to a complete stop and slowly got off our bikes. The water felt cool and refreshing, especially on such a hot summer day, as it reached past our knees and wet the edges of our shorts. I curled my toes as I felt a strangely slippery substance beneath my toes.
“I think we should walk the rest of the way the water is too high to ride our bikes through it” Daniel said as he picked up his