Too Soon...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a metaphor again. Every sentence and almost every described object represents something real to me. Again, I don't like to tell my side of the story right away, because I feel like the reader can apply the imagery to his or her own situations in life. If you must know, you can always message me. ;)

Submitted: August 10, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 10, 2012

A A A

A A A


Again, I find myself on the wrong side of the railing, facing the wrong kind of direction.

I've been here before and I'll be here again.
7-Gapstow_Bridge_Snow.jpg\"
The weather is cold, but I don't feel a thing. This time of year comes around so consistently. Dark and grey. The sun likes to tease sometimes. Giving a quick burst of hope, even a hint of that other feeling... the one that initiates a smile. My eyes are closed. Only then the memory of a ray of sunlight prevails. Although I'm numb, I can still imagine the cliché of a thousand needles as the wind howls past my face. I'm holding on to the frozen rails behind me. Gripping tight out of fear or because of the cold, I cannot tell.
 
I'm alone. There is a slight urge to be seen, to be noticed... to be understood. But it's a cold winter's night, on a snowed in bridge, illuminated by a single streetlight above a nameless river where I find myself on the wrong side of the railing, facing the wrong kind of direction with no one in sight. No one that could donate pity. No one that could run and get help. No one who can see the frozen crystals on my cheeks that, so badly, wanted nothing more than to be tears.
 
Am I going to jump this time? I've jumped before... many times before. The question really isn't whether I am going to do it or not. I always jump. I slightly open my eyes and look down. The condensation of my heavy breathing is making it even harder to see. There is absolutely no point in contemplating what will happen on impact. It's going to be what it's going to be. No amount of inner monologue and risk analysis is going to change the eventual outcome. Though I can hope for what I'd prefer would happen. For once I want to break through the thick layer of ice. That impenetrable barrier, bypassed by anyone else but myself. I will deal with the freezing cold water when I reach it.
 
I close my eyes again and I relax my clenched fists. There is no need for me to rush and push off. Now that I've let go, everything that is about to happen is inevitable. The chaos in my head stops, replaced by a single, undefined thought driven only by anticipation as my body starts to tilt. I'm waiting for that feeling in my gut. That sensation of a sudden drop. The sort that wakes you up during the night, although you're never actually falling. The kind of feeling that shoots the adrenaline through your entire body and makes your heart pump to the rhythm of panic... It never sets in. Like so many times before, it never sets in.
 
A_frozen_tear_by_ShinyDragonfly.jpg\"I think I'm falling... without having finished that last thought completely, my ability to comprehend implodes with a sudden jolt. Although my lids are still shut, flashes of white light bounce off the fleshy screens I've been hiding behind for so many years. Then they faint. I want to hold on to them. I still cannot feel, instead I fade.
 
Afraid to open my eyes, afraid to see, in fear of having to feel what I am sure to realize, once my visual vocabulary makes sense of the trauma. It can't be good. Face down on the ground, a pool of blood working its way through the paths of least resistance in the snow, creating beautiful art outside the context of the situation. A cracked jaw maybe? Broken ribs inside a concave chest? The eventual physical pain is nothing new. I've jumped before... many times before and every time I've landed hard. My intentions of at least once crashing through the icy layer of this nameless river, at least once breaking through the circumstantial wall of this element while falling as hard as I am used to, has proven impossible for me.
Everything is quiet.
 
blood-heart-shape-in-snow-thumb9862340.jThere is no anger, no disappointment, no real sadness I could grasp, nothing left but indifference. I'm not even contemplating my next attempt, nor am I reflecting on my past failures. I'm just drained and out of energy. Thinking requires a tremendous amount of it. Analyzing what had gone wrong and worrying about what still will. Fighting brutal battles to overcome my lack of self-esteem. Finally, gathering what's left to put up a distorted mask of joy and confidence. Two big blue buttons nailed into place as eyes and a disfigured grin decoratively lining the bottom half of my secret cloak, which would feel so delightful on my face at this moment.
 
I open my eyes... The wind is brushing across my face with a faint whistle... I failed.
 
Again, I find myself on the wrong side of the railing facing the wrong kind of direction. Why didn't I jump? Maybe I did learn some kind of a lesson. As with many of those I most likely won't realize the true value until it hardly means anything anymore. This could have been the one to break the barrier, that has been keeping me out of the anticipated unknown, a world beyond just wondering and speculating. This could have been the one... I failed because I was too afraid to fail.
 
Staring out over the frozen river with no name, a symbol of what could have been and what has been in the past, I think to myself, “the sun likes to tease sometimes with that quick burst of hope and a hint of that other feeling... the one that initiates a smile.” Clarity rushes through my thoughts, neutralizing the uncertainty contained within. The obvious answer to a question I had never asked myself, is actually yet another question: 
 
Why don't I just come back in spring time?
 
 
 
by: Thomas Namdar (c) 2012, Aug 8th


© Copyright 2017 Thomas Namdar. All rights reserved.

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