My Red Rusty Bridge

3.24 AM

"Just. One. Step."

Those three words echoed in his head over and over again.  It was a really cold evening and the wind nearly blew him off the bridge by itself. Probably it wasn't the right decision to wear a thin T-shirt and those swimming boxer-shorts. Hmm somehow ironic. Wearing swimwear, when you go drowning. Well, not as if it really mattered.

"One step. One step. One step."

Slowly he lifted his right foot and bent it over the edge. His mind was ready, but in a short second of not paying attention, he lost control over his body. Why does it have to be so hard? Why wasn't he able to simply let go? Simply open his hands and let himself fall into the swashing, dark blue waves below his feet. No matter how hard he tried, his fingers seemed to be glued to the iron gate. "Come on...". 

No. Not today. 

He lifted himself over the Gate and jumped back on the pedestrian path. Why did he exactly came here? Oh right. He couldn't fall asleep. It was the fourth time he went to the bridge, in a period of three weeks. When he was younger he also thought about being on the bridge. He thought about it quite often...

When he was lying in his comfortable, warm bed and the wind seemed to pull out all the trees outside.

Yes, those were the moments he wanted to stand on the bridge, just to... Well. What for? Just to feel alive probably. It sounds like an awful reason, but why not? There doesn't have to be anything wrong with your life, to make you feel unhappy. Sometimes it's just this feeling of numbness.

That's the worst feeling of them all.

He checked his watch. 3.24 AM. The streets were empty, except for the few drunk teenagers, who were on their way home. He actually knew plenty of them, but he wasn't really in the mood for talking. Guess it would have gotten a little bit awkward to do small talk in this situation.

"Hey Bro, long time no see, what are you up to?".

"Just chilling on this empty bridge and maybe I'm going to jump off, but don't know. Just doesn't feel like the right day, ya know?"

Yep, would have turned out somehow weird. Also his buddy Matt thinks he wasn't able to come to the party today, because... hmm don't know anymore. Some of his typical excuses. He was really good at making excuses. Well... Not really good at it, but people believed him and they were never really angry with him. Probably they weren't because they still needed him as a friend. Not actually as a friend, but the needed him for something. Money, a place to sleep, drugs... He couldn't really figure out the reason why people would like him for who he is. Don't get it wrong: The question isn't about low self-esteem. He actually really likes himself, but he's not friends with people for no reason. So why should they be? 

Life's easy if you have money and are in some way considered handsome (could also be linked to the money again. We all know what rules the world, right?) But think about it. Picture the weird kid in class. I know you can, everybody has one. He's kinda strange. Not fat, not really ugly, but surely never (positively) recognized by girls.  Listens to different music, wears different clothes, doesn't talk a lot but when he does it's  some weird shit. Now add wealth and maybe a better haircut and voila: you actually have a popular guy, admired by pretty much everyone for his uniqueness and the girls think he's so mysterious and love him because he reminds them of those metrosexual vampires from some shitty teen movie.

It's really unfair actually.

You can be whoever you want, but in the end, it just matters what you are born with. But this wasn't his problem. He was a lucky bastard. Born in a wealthy household, but this is not about listing some first world problems. As I've said before, all those things don't mean you're happy. Also if it might sound like it was the case, he really wasn't spoiled. It wasn't about him wanting a new mountain bike or something; it was just everything... and everybody... It's hard to explain. But to keep it short: He was unhappy. Not in an "I cry in the shower" way, just in a "the highlight of my week is standing on the edge of an empty bridge" way. But there's still time to talk about that. Now he should probably go back home, lay down in his comfortable, warm bed and dream about the wind, blowing him off the bridge.

And that's exactly what he did.