The sunrise was always my favorite part of my day. Every morning, I'd go on the bridge, lean over the railing, and just watch that huge ball of mystical fire creep out from behind the city and bleach the night sky, the water of the bay slowly turning from a shiny black to a glinting blue, little flecks of light dancing on its surface. When I was little, I used to believe that it rose especially for me, that it painted the sky its brilliant shade of blue just because I was there to watch it. As a child, I came everyday, and felt proud of myself for waking up early to visit the bridge, for, if I didn't come, the sun might not rise. Slowly, as I crept into adolescence, I started to know that it would rise anyway, but I still came everyday, just for the beauty of it.

I never believed in heaven. That's why suicide seemed the right option, it would take me from the life I didn't want, and wouldn't thrust me in another one I wouldn't desire. My boyfriend couldn't haunt me in a life that didn't exist.

My ex-boyfriend. He just had to go and die, didn't he? He just had to go and die, and force me to move back with my parents. He had to go and die, leaving me alone with my nightmares every night of his mutilated body. He had to die, and take my heart with him in his grave. He had to force me to watch my parents break the furniture and the house in their daily drunken stupors. He had to leave me all alone against a world who didn't want me there anyway. He had to die.

I had spent weeks deciding where the best place to end my life would be, and soon I set my mind on Freeman bridge. I'd fall in the water, my body wouldn't be found, and no one would see it mutilated like any other form of suicide. I could do it in a crowd, the whole city would be too busy living their own lives to care about mine. And besides, I would be going to Freeman's bridge anyway, to watch the sunrise. Nothing would stop me from seeing that beautiful daily phenomenon for the last time.

I woke up, as usual, and went to Freeman's bridge, as usual. I leaned over the railing, like I had everyday of my soon-to-end life. I felt the sun's warm rays on my face for the last time. They weren't strong enough yet to evaporate the tears on my face, and my make up bled. I wondered why I put it on in the first place, it wasn't like I was going to a party, I came here to die. I closed my eyes, opened them, looked at the sun, as my eyes watered from the light. Rubbing the new tears away, I crossed the bridge, and sat on the railing on this side, and looked out on the bay. I'd never noticed how beautiful it was. Perfect view for my eyes to see last.

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Author guidance for This story

There is a jumper on the Freeman Bridge during morning rush hour.

The story will be told from three, alternating points of view: a driver stuck in the traffic jam, the cop in charge of talking the jumper down, and the jumper.

The first chapter introduces us to the driver, who I would like to continue taking care of. The next will be from the cop's point of view, and the third from the jumper's, and the chapters will continue rotating through these points of view until the (hopefully) thrilling conclusion.

The driver - Eloosive
The cop - Andrew
The jumper - Ritu

updated May 24 '10 by Eloosive