The heart of the city could be felt by the beat of traffic. Life rushed by without a pause, haunted by the brakes of death. Time blinked in and out of existence, where we’ve been and where we are, but where are we going? The roads would never tell but cluster together, complicating lives with twists and turns, and it would never be a straight path. But as they rolled on by, bent on their destinations, nobody saw the one ready to jump off the bridge.
It was a cold October day. It was just after ten. The morning commute had finally died down, and all worker bees were nestled in their four-walled rooms. Bosses were sitting in spacious offices behind large, oak desks, and time marched to their tune. That was the way of the world, eat, sleep, and work, and there was no time to waste. And there were those still desperately searching to fill the hole left by unemployment, but some had already given up.
The world was in turmoil. Horror stories painted the news day in and day out. Homes were abandoned. Loved pets wandered cold streets. Friendships faded. Trust and Honesty were a rarity, flashing across a neon sign. They were just trying to survive now, and the false tongues of politicians could only soothe their pain until their own skeletons fell out of the closet. And then we would be left in disgust, betrayal, and what would be the point to keep on living? Why not give up?
It was getting colder. Winter was already on its way, and once officially here, it was here to stay. It would bury the world in white, keeping misery company. The chill of loss and defeat would flicker against the fires of love, but love walked out the door one late night. Now, there was nothing, and where we’ve been, where we are has been buried six flurries down. But where would we go once winter was gone?
These things no longer bothered me. Life did not bother me. Time was a mere acquaintance, visiting from time to time. The world continued to roll on by like the cars over this bridge, and nobody saw me standing here. It was already too late.
I jumped off this bridge a long time ago, way before the world got flushed down the toilet. I came home late one night after clearing my desk with a pink slip in hand. Her bags were packed by the door. She kissed me on the cheek, and without saying a word, she left, driving off down a dark road. And I was left behind.
There was nothing to live for, or so I told myself. I walked here, leaving my car, my things at home. I didn’t care. I stopped caring a long time ago, and the waters below me looked welcoming. Nobody stopped me. Nobody talked me down, so I jumped. And here I am today.
I turned toward the passing cars. They just kept on going, hoping to get somewhere, but what if they just wound up nowhere? Did they think of that? That thought, that small voice that crawled into the back of your mind and told you to give up, and I listened. I was wrong.
I’m trapped, watching this city, this world, these people live on. I want to tell them that I was here, that I am here. I want to tell them to keep on driving and never stop, never listen to that voice that likes to charm its way into your mind. If I can’t leave here, then maybe I could do something. I’m so tired. I just want to go home.
What if I never jumped? My boss nearly fired me that day, and my wife threatened to leave. I talked her down. Her pink note wound tightly around my hand. I couldn’t let her go. How could she be so selfish? How could she just give up?
That’s the cruelty of this world. It wants you to give up through the burdens pressed down across our backs, through the corporations that make a circus out of our lives, forcing us to jump through hoops, and through the bull that we have to deal with day in and day out. Life was not fair, but I wish it was. I wished these damn roads before me led to where I want to go, but nobody knows. We thought the world was going to end, but the truth was that we were afraid that we were going to end. And some did, but they never died.
Here on this bridge, we stood together, a legacy lost. Our eyes drank in the lives that you take for granted. Our thoughts are yours, and our despair, our doubt is washed away by your strength, your need to go forward. Our lives are written for all to know, all to remember, and never would we be forgotten. Our heart, our soul is here not trapped in suffering but in hope, hope that we find that second chance to make things right, and some way, somehow, we would. And the heart of the city could be felt by the beat of traffic tonight.