The Passion of Death (Editing)

A Human Connection

"Do you smoke?" He holds out a fag, I take it from him with my lips, I notice he's wearing a ring.
"You're married then?" I ask, cigarette clinging between my lips as I pull a lighter from my pocket.
He just nods taking another for himself, I light it.
"Aren't you too young to be married?"
"Twenty Two" he shrugs.
I explore his face, with my right hand I shake up his dark short hair, "you look sixteen to me."
He frowns but in a comically adorable way which causes me to smile.
"You?"
"Hmm, If I recall correctly I was born in 1853, died in 1890 and was born again in 1959. So, do the math because I'm not good at it."
"Nineteen?" He says after a short pause.
"Nineteen yes, my physical age, my soul? I don't know. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

While taking a long inhale from the coffin nail he ponders my question, his eyes only half open yet piercing mine.

"I once had a dream, I was half awake, like a vivid memory that I did not live in this dimension. I was myself at an older age trapped in a damp French cell, and it was so cold I could feel it in my bones. I had been at war, for what cause I did not know, but I was found deserving of rotting away day by day in that cell.
All I could see was darkness, my eyes forgot their purpose. I forgot the warmth of the sun, the shape of the moon, I forgot that I was alive too."
"Were you ever free?" I ask.
"Only in death are we free."

I felt a strange stirring in me, like the strumming of my heart strings or the kicking of a non-existent baby in my gut. Is that what it's like to have a human connection? To have understanding? He spoke words I had before written in my journal.

As twilight becomes cooler and the sky darker we reach our destination; Stockport Bridge, we stand in its center.
"Well Ian, it's been grand. You're the first person who I felt understood me, that must mean you're insane. Sorry to break the news, anyway, thank you. It is time for me to go."

He stood thrown off by my words and as I climbed atop the brick parapet of the bridge his vacant eyes grew wide.
"What are you doing?!"
"I'm going to jump" I admit staring off at the distant sinking sun, I take a deep breath of the cool air as my insides fill with thrill-full adrenaline.
I have only felt this alive once before, as I stuffed my throat with little pills. I take a step into the wind but before I am able to kiss the world goodbye I'm violently pulled back and off the parapet by my coat. I almost land on my ass.

"What the fuck?!" I exclaim.
"You're not gonna fucking jump!"
"What?! Of course I am! If i'd known you were gonna act like a nosy cunt I wouldn't have allowed you to come along. What's your problem?"
"My problem?! This bridge is probably thirty meters in height!"
"It's thirty three, actually. That's why I chose it. Now, if you'll excuse me" I try to get back on the parapet but he takes a hold of me from behind, I wouldn't have imagined him having such strength.
"Let me go! Bastard!"
"No, you're not killing yourself in front of me!"

Then suddenly his voice seemed about to break, I feel his muscles tense all at once, then he lets go. He's on the ground trembling like a puppet whose strings are being pulled too swiftly, I, terrified.