Alex would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed planning his suicide. Finally, he felt motivated! He had a meaningful project. He was bringing certainty into his life, taking matters into his own hands and shaking off the terrible hopelessness he’d felt for weeks on end. He was no longer lying in his room, wasting his life, waiting for death to come to him. He finally had a goal and a purpose, something to work towards. In fact, he woke unusually early, got dressed and left his room in a hurry, knowing that today was the day.
Everything else was just a distraction now. Yes, flowers, trees and the summer were beautiful and full of life for now, but what did it matter? One day, the flowers would die, the trees would fall, and the whole city would collapse into the sea, forgotten by anyone that ever lived. It was all a lie and it meant nothing. Life was ridiculous, better to do away with it than suffer it for years on end.
No, there was nothing left to do. Nothing at all. Except die.
As Alex rounded the last corner of the street, the railway bridge sprang into view. It wasn’t anything special: a grey, mass-produced construction for people and cars. The side of the bridge was punctuated with some boring graffiti, simple scrawls and patterns, in colours that had once been garish, but were now faded and almost gone. There was litter strewn across the pavement, old takeaway boxes and fag ends, all perfectly normal.
But as soon as Alex reached the bridge, he stopped dead and his hands began to shake. He put a hand onto the railing to balance himself and recognised the sick and panicky feeling of anxiety building up.
‘Here we are…’ he told himself.
Of course, he’d been to the bridge before. He knew the view over the side, of scrubby trees, gravel and train sleepers laid out before him, ready and waiting for him to just slip over the edge, and splatter to bits among the metal tracks.
But now that he was here, he quailed at the idea that here, in this grimy corner of the city, he would meet his end.
Had he really arrived at the end of his life? Would this be his final destination?
Why had he chosen here? Why had it not occurred to him to die somewhere real and natural, somewhere with hills and trees and grass and nature all around? Why did it have to be in this ugly place?
His heart was burning. He couldn’t breathe. The fear in his chest was too much; he thought he might throw up.
As he stood there, slumped against the railing, he didn’t know what to think. His mind wandered from counting the number of railings on the opposite side of the bridge to examining the pattern of discarded specks of gum covering the road.
This was not how he’d imagined it. In his mind, he’d pictured the moment as being somehow more profound. He’d thought that when the time finally came to throw himself off a bridge, he’d remember all the best things in his life, and count his blessings, and in that moment, he would somehow be peaceful and happy.
He tried to recall all the best moments of his life. His fondest memories of the people he loved. But he couldn’t put his thoughts together into any kind of story. All that came back to him were recent memories, inconsequential conversations, like his dad talking about the chimenea. He hadn’t even been able to get through to Natalie, had left her a garbled voicemail telling her to be happy and not worry about him, or something like that. Modern life had reduced the suicide letter to a shitty voicemail.
His head hurt from all this. Maybe dying was going to be just as confusing and pointless as being alive. But at least when he was dead, he wouldn’t have to think about all these strange and endless thoughts any longer.
His breathing had returned to normal. His fingers trembled, but he felt strangely calm. He felt like he had thought everything, said everything, done everything, and felt every emotion he could. There was nothing left for him to feel, and now a strange numbness engulfed him, filling him with indifference. Nothing left to do. Nothing left to say.
He stared down at the cold metal rails below. There was a rumbling noise. A train was approaching the bridge at a rapid pace.