There is one truth about humans, a simple, defining, harrowing fact.
They are completely mesmerised by death, particularly when it comes to their own species.
The crowd flocked on the bridge with wide eyes and dark holes for mouths. The steel beneath their feet creaks and groans, but their staccato chatter muffled the sound. Clumsy fingers reached for the keypads on their mobile phones - stretching for, but not quite tapping the triple nines. They were too entranced with one man, who just happened to be wavering on the very edge, his face down turned towards the murky depths of the Thames. He didn't move as people shout, 'No! Don't do this!' And he seemed to be completely unaware of his own theatricality. Even as one foot edges out, hovering in the air for a swiftly passing second. There was a collective gasp, but it was all too late - the man was already plunging through the air.
An almighty splash, and the roar of the current dragged him down. He didn't struggle, letting the river flow smash him this way and that. His eyes were closed, mouth agape as if he were purposefully dragging in each and every bubble. He wasn't pretending, this guy.
It's a shame then, really, that a hand plunged in through the surface of the water, fingers outstretched to firmly grasp the fabric of his coat, and dragged him out of the river's depths, onto a bank decorated with sopping overgrown grass. He retched onto the earth, emptying the polluted liquid that was so comfortably occupying his lungs beforehand. For a long minute he was heaving face down, before he inclined his head back, fierce-some blue eyes narrowed in a glare. This wasn't how he planned it at all. His wrath radiated in waves.
"Sorry Teddy boy." I gave him my most sheepish smile, trying to convince him that yes, I was truly sorry for ruining his suicide attempt, and honestly, there was a good reason for it, try not to be difficult. "Looks like I need you alive for just a little bit longer."
He didn't seem to comprehend at first, as if the water was still blocking his ears, but then I followed the path of his gaze and realised he was staring at the tall scythe in my hand.
They are completely mesmerised by death, particularly when it comes to their own species.
The crowd flocked on the bridge with wide eyes and dark holes for mouths. The steel beneath their feet creaks and groans, but their staccato chatter muffled the sound. Clumsy fingers reached for the keypads on their mobile phones - stretching for, but not quite tapping the triple nines. They were too entranced with one man, who just happened to be wavering on the very edge, his face down turned towards the murky depths of the Thames. He didn't move as people shout, 'No! Don't do this!' And he seemed to be completely unaware of his own theatricality. Even as one foot edges out, hovering in the air for a swiftly passing second. There was a collective gasp, but it was all too late - the man was already plunging through the air.
An almighty splash, and the roar of the current dragged him down. He didn't struggle, letting the river flow smash him this way and that. His eyes were closed, mouth agape as if he were purposefully dragging in each and every bubble. He wasn't pretending, this guy.
It's a shame then, really, that a hand plunged in through the surface of the water, fingers outstretched to firmly grasp the fabric of his coat, and dragged him out of the river's depths, onto a bank decorated with sopping overgrown grass. He retched onto the earth, emptying the polluted liquid that was so comfortably occupying his lungs beforehand. For a long minute he was heaving face down, before he inclined his head back, fierce-some blue eyes narrowed in a glare. This wasn't how he planned it at all. His wrath radiated in waves.
"Sorry Teddy boy." I gave him my most sheepish smile, trying to convince him that yes, I was truly sorry for ruining his suicide attempt, and honestly, there was a good reason for it, try not to be difficult. "Looks like I need you alive for just a little bit longer."
He didn't seem to comprehend at first, as if the water was still blocking his ears, but then I followed the path of his gaze and realised he was staring at the tall scythe in my hand.
