Bridge

I am walking to the castle along a dirt road. At a wooden bridge an old man stops me. – I am your grandfather, he says. – You are not my grandfather, I say. My grandfather was killed in the war. – Nevertheless, you must unlock my head, which is the real castle, he says. I laugh. He turns around three times and then throws himself over the railing of the bridge. I continue walking across the bridge when it stops. I look down and there is nothing but mist and clouds. I look up to the castle. But there is nothing, only mist and clouds.