The water was black, deep. White foamy ripples tickled the rusty iron girders below. Roaring blurs of red and orange shot past by me, not knowing or caring I existed.
The pressure had become too much. This was my only choice, only way out.
I stared down at the cold, calm water. It juxtaposed what was going on in my mind; so many decisions, so many outcomes.
My palms clung onto the piercing sting of the metal, slipping, sliding. The wind billowed, franticly pounded me, and I gasped as it prized one of my hands away from the bridge.
I desperately scrambled to cling to the framework...my palms too sweaty to keep hold.
I screamed, looked down foolishly, the sudden panic and realisation sending my mind spiralling. I didn’t want to die now, even though I had already said goodbye and stuck two fingers up at the world.
Tears felt more like knives as the wind pierced my skin, numbing my hands.
The waves seemed to spiral up, ready to consume, hungry for such a young life.
Ribbons of black and navy exploded out, the creamy foam washed over in cool, calm ripples.
Pixie is a student who is new to the writing world, and writes when she can, where she can. Her work is mainly flash fiction and poems with the occasional short story.
Pixie’s work can be found at http://theworksofpixiejking.blogspot.com
Alternatively, for a more warped version of Pixie’s thoughts, try http://mywarpedwaysoflife.blogspot.com/