On any typical grey Sunday, at 9 in the morning, a burly man sat on the edge of a sofa in his quaint little apartment. As the thunder cracked relentlessly outside, he turned to the window and wished it to quiet. Seemingly in touch with the mans thoughts, Mother Nature slowed the cracks of thunder, moving the storm away.



The man was crying. His eyes were red and puffy, blood vessels broken from the many sleepless nights and fits of tears. Wiping them from his eyes, he stood up and walked towards the door. Past the refrigerator that carried his last note. Farther still from the framed picture of his lover and himself hanging near the fake fireplace. He stopped at the door, his hand resting on the dull doorknob, and leaning his head against the door. "Why did it come to this" he whispered, gathering the strength to open the door. After a few moments he jarred the door loose, and slipped through silently as not to awaken the still sleeping occupant inside.



The stairs were wet, still gleaming from the tenants retreating from the rain that had been pouring for almost two days. The river near the apartment complex was swollen and angry, raging against its shallow shores. As the man walked out into the morning, the smell of the nearby oil plants hit his nose. "The last thing I'm going to smell is oil. Fantastic."



The walk to the bridge was uneventful. The path wasn't populated by it's usual dogs and their owners. They were far too busy trying to keep dry inside of the buildings. If they hadn't been, maybe the events wouldn't have unfolded as the did. The sand was clinging to his shoes, almost as if the earth was begging him not to leave. He trudged on, gripping his way through the sand and reaching the small wooden bridge that hung over the river at the point where it dropped off into a small waterfall.



Sliding on the wood, the man clambered over the railing and looked down to the river below. The rain had truly expanded its power, as it roared through the air, smashing against the rocks below. Saying one last good-bye, the man let go, plummeting towards the unforgiving bed of the river. They say that most people who jump from bridges realize they made a mistake about half way down. This man didn't.