The Cruel Truth

I paced back and forth across the bridge. My flip flops slapped the pavement and my breath came out in white puffs. Nobody was around. It was too late and too early all at the same time for anybody to be out this way. I had a pact with myself that if even one person came here, whether on a walk of shame or a very early jog, I would stop.

Nobody was coming.

There were three bags in the middle of the bridge: one labeled school, another friends, and the last me. All meaningless and yet somehow important. They were memories of the last three years of college that haunted me every day.
A fire was starting in the corner of the park, closest to me. I grabbed the first bag filled with college papers, notes, tests, and study materials and then threw them into the fire. The blaze heightened with the dry paper, crisping the bugs that were attracted to the glow. It could be seen from campus.
Nobody was coming.

I brought the next two bags over going halfway through each bag until the pain became unbearable. Each bag crumbled in the fire turning into nothing but ash, the smell of burning plastic spread.

Stepping away from the blaze, I walked back to the bridge and looked down.

The water was choppy enough to push me around, cold enough to freeze, and deep enough to disorient me when I went under. The fall wasn’t long enough to change my mind.

Nobody was coming.

I stepped onto the bridge.

Nobody was coming.

A deep breath in.

Nobody was coming.

Let it out.

Nobody was coming.

One last act.

Nobody was coming.

Push off and fly.

Nobody came.

Fall.

The sound of sneakers hitting the pavement from a student running to get coffee reached me before I hit the water.