The Bridge

This story contains suicide, murder, being shot in the leg, assault, and mental health issues.

Sitting on the edge of the bridge, I wondered what the hell had happened.

I really, honestly hadn't meant for it to go that way. I'd never hurt a person before in my life.

Keeping that thought in mind, I tried not to shudder at the images that flooded my mind. The stains, the body, the emptiness in their eyes. But, in the end, I gave in to the shudder, the guilt, the shame. Because I knew that that was better than what lay underneath the shame.

I wasn't quite ready to face what lay beneath. But, as I began to swing my legs on the edge, if I was really gonna do this, I might as well do it thoroughly. I swung around, feeling my bare feet land on the concrete. I winced as I relished the pain, letting it ground me from the thoughts running through my head.

And with that, I began to walk toward the place where it happened.

Getting to the site took about 20 minutes. Through the clearing, turn at the rock, jump over the river. And then I was there. The large walnut tree taking up most of my vision. And I see it. The rope. Still hanging there, like a star in a lonely sky. And observing the space around the rope, I can still see the broken branches where they fell. The disturbance in the leaves where I had had to move them. To bury it. I knelt at the place. And began to remember.

Walking down the street.

Hearing the voices.

They were loud.

Taking up the whole space.

Anyone else would've kept going. But something in one of the voices made me stop. Desperation and panic, with a hint of violation. And, so I turned and watched.

A woman, being held by 2 men as another brandishes a gun in her face. She looks... normal. Non-descript, someone you wouldn't be able to pick out in a police line-up. "The perfect target," I think to myself as I begin to run towards them. They don't see me, too preoccupied with their prey. So, the man makes a noise of surprise when I suddenly punch him and grab the gun. A quiet moment passes, filled with only the sound of pants and light crying from the woman, as I raise the gun and shoot the man in front of me in the throat. The other two men jerk, yet still hold the woman tightly as she screams. The man clutches his throat as he falls to his knees, gagging, then falls flat on his face.

I hear a voice behind me talking, so I turn to see one of the men speaking to me. "We'll let you have her if you let us go." I retched in my mouth at the trash in front of me.

I felt an uncharacteristic smirk spread on my face as I purred, "Now why would I do that?" I watched the fear begin to cloud his eyes as I raised the gun and shot them both in quick succession. The woman flinched as the two bodies dropped.

She looked at me and spoke, "Thank you, you're a good woman." I felt my head tilt as I took a step toward her. She still didn't move, as a small smile came upon her lips.

That smile was replaced with a scream of agony as I shot her in the leg. She fell to the ground and resumed crying as she stared up at me, fear alight in her eyes, a cornered animal. I smiled as I crept toward her and knelt beside her, lowering my mouth to her ear as I pressed the gun to her ribs. "Why don't we take a little walk?"

And so I drag her to the walnut tree, as she trembles beside me, the gun still pressed into her ribs, leaning on me, though clearly repulsed at having to do so despite her fear.

She cries out as I let her drop. She looks up at me, now more angry than afraid. I point at the tree. She looks from me to the tree and starts to shake her head. I nod and hold up a rope. She starts to cry harder before I raise the gun again. Then she starts to get up, crying out from the bullet in her leg. I lean against the tree as she stumbles toward it. I feel a twinge of guilt, so I walk toward her and grab her arm and help her to the tree. She looks at me with anger in her eyes as she asks, "Why?" She starts to shake violently, "Why!?"

"I don't know." And I hang the rope as she continues to scowl at me, crying.

"Please, not this, not this." So I raise the gun and shoot.

I come back from the memory to sit at her grave. Had I always been like this? I don't know. There'd been a time when I could almost ignore it. Let it fade away. But, I guess you never truly escape it. The darkness. That twinge in your brain. Like every single neuron is firing for the first time. It feels electric. Like fire coursing through your head. I was young the first time. Lying in the backyard. Holding a tiny little bird in my hand. Some of the other kids had thrown rocks at its nest until it had fallen. I had watched them, not moving. I could've done something. But, I didn't. When I had the bird in my hand, I had squeezed. And squeezed, and squeezed til the bird's eyes had popped out. I remember I had walked back inside and held the bird out to my mother, saying I found it outside, and could we give it a memorial?

I had seen in her eyes that she doubted me, but just as I had not wanted to confront it, neither had she. And so we had the little bird funeral.

There were so many events like that throughout my life. More than I can count. I suppose tonight was only the latest. I lay my hand on the woman's makeshift grave as I think about the feeling of what I did. The a little buzz in my head every time I aimed the gun. For the first time all night, I cry. I hadn't even known her name. I can't let this happen. I can't let this happen again. So, I raise the gun, aim, and let myself be swallowed by darkness.