Viagem - Maldita

"The worst," I said.

We ran. All of us, into the fog. I don't know what happened to the others. When dawn came, I found myself on a highway, thumb out, clothes covered in red dust. A trucker picked me up. "Rough night?" he asked. viagem maldita

It started small. The radio, tuned to a static-filled station, began playing a song backwards—a waltz from the 1940s. The salesman joked it was a sign. The nun crossed herself. Then the child spoke for the first time: "The bridge is gone." "The worst," I said

I checked my pocket. The ticket stub was gone. In its place: a dried flower, black as ash, and a photograph of myself—taken from outside the bus window at that very moment. I found myself on a highway