Excerpt from a someday full length novel: What Happens When We Die?

Beginning Note: I’m sincerely sorry for any triggering or explicit content. It’s not my intention to harm though I know intention doesn’t mean it won’t happen accidentally. Please read to the end for the End Note and hopefully enjoy. I am extremely proud of this small part of the book and all readers should know I cried while writing these lines.

It was like watching a dream you sort of remember and being reminded with every detail coming into clarity that it was actually a nightmare. She stared in horror at the screen before her vaguely aware of what was going to happen.

I remember writing it… she thought. She watched herself pin the note to the cork board.

The note hung at an angle on the scantily adorned board. Noticeable, prominent, undeniable. She left her keys and phone on the counter with her purse and walked out the front door with no visible hesitation.

The walk to the bridge was, on sunny summer days, a pleasant stroll through city tamed wilderness with dirt paths much wilder diverging from the main asphalt path. If Prisca could have described any part of her life as happier times it was during them that she and friends explored those dirt trails discovering safe ways to the water. During those times getting turned around or sliding down unsteady embankments were laughable adventures but on her current mission were a waste of time she couldn’t entertain. She walked along the main path directly to the bridge with haste, arms crossed.

The bridge, although fairly well lit by street lamps, was empty of any traffic. Prisca made her way to the footpath that ran along the road stopping in the center, the highest point. Her gaze was fixed straight forward at the dark horizon which was ever close to her as the night made the depth of the world close in. Was she scared to look down?

She did.

The water was only visible by the white rapids that seemed to glow from the light of the street lamps and the moon. The water was all she could hear besides her heart in her ears.

Her face was dry. She’d cried all she could when she’d written her note and she was now numb. She stared straight ahead, expressionless, hands on the railing.

I was thinking of every reason I was on that bridge, Prisca recalled with a sharp pain to her chest.

After what seemed like an eternity Prisca finally looked down to see the glowing rapids that would embrace her. Unless she grew wings and could suddenly fly away from all the pain.

No, that won’t happen. Those rapids catch me. I can’t fly, she remembered.

She climbed over the railing to stand on the little ledge that peeked over with her hands still tightly around the rail behind her.

Just let go, she thought then. Just let go and let it be over. Unless I can fly.

Part of her still wanted to fly.

Prisca inhaled a deep breath, the cool night air filling her lungs until they might burst, and with the last releases of the exhale she slowly released her grip and let go...

* * *

The screen suddenly cut to black, Prisca sighed with relief thinking she wouldn’t have to watch herself die, but instead it faded back in on her front door opening.

Oh, no.

He had a spare key. She’d forgotten to ask for it back. Forgotten or intentionally neglected to reclaim?

Henry stepped into her house calling her name asking if she was home. He looked worried but in those days he almost always did. His voice didn’t betray his anxiety. He entered the living room which was mostly dark, illuminated he noticed, only by the stove light in the kitchen. With so many lights off he figured no one was home until he noticed Prisca’s purse, keys and phone neatly left on the counter. He sighed his relief and turned to go up the stairs to her room. He knocked twice then entered her dark room; switching on the light his anxiety returned. He hurried back down the stairs and only then did he see the note addressed to ‘Everyone’ on the cork board.

It was her handwriting. He didn’t know how many stories and essays of hers he’d watched her write or even proofread for her, it was her handwriting.

Hesitantly, he opened the note with shaking hands but delicate fingers.

I didn’t want to write this but if I hadn’t you would all think I’d been murdered and try to find my killer thus stretching your pain for who knows how long, so let me cut it short; it was me.

No.

Henry’s heart stopped beating and like a hummingbird whose wings ceased beating rapidly, it dropped.

He read the rest of the letter with silent tears streaming down his face. Only after he was done did he remove his hand from his mouth. It found a new home on his forehead keeping his head from rolling right off his shoulders as he sobbed sitting on the comfy red chair he’d helped Prisca pick out when she moved into the house.

Suddenly, an image came into his mind. A memory. ‘The bridge’ he thought picking his head up and wiping his nose with the back of a sleeve. They walked that bridge nearly everyday, even before she had come to live in this house, and he had seen her stop for a moment. He saw her stop for a moment and stare out at the horizon and then down at the water one day when he had already started to worry about her. He remembered the sharp sensation it gave him like he needed to take action, to intervene in something and then he remembered although that was the first time he’d noticed it, the way she stopped, the numb look on her face as she stared at the water differently than she ever had before when they used to just look down because it was pretty, and he realized that hadn’t been the first time he’d seen it.

‘She’s there, she’s got to be,’ He thought, ‘maybe it’s not too late.’

And just like that he was out the door running as fast as he could. As he ran he remembered what she’d said that day on the bridge when it made him nervous.

“Do You think anyone could survive the fall from up here?” She’d asked. And despite his nerves then it hadn’t been that strange of a question. It was nearly 80 feet from the railing to the water and several brave cliff jumpers on daring and hot summer days had unintentionally ended themselves. He remembered what he’d said to her.

‘They’d need wings, or a bungee cord,’ he’d laughed it off.

‘ And he would be her wings,’ He thought, ‘ if he could get there in time; if he wasn’t already too late.’

He wasn’t.

He watched her climb over the railing as he closed the distance between them but his lungs burned and when he screamed her name it was not audible.

‘I’ll be her wings,’ He assured himself again as he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around her waist just as she let herself fall. She screamed and grasped his forearms with her fingertips still not sure what was happening. Henry strained to keep himself on his side of the rail but he hadn’t realized until now how fatigued and painful all his muscles were.

“Grab something!” He yelled between clenched teeth aware he was going to go over.

With one hand Prisca frantically grasped for the platform her feet had just been on and found the neck of one of the rail supports. As she tried to turn her body to affirm her grip she saw with terror as Henry let himself slip over the rail not seeing that he had reclaimed his left arm to guide himself over while holding onto it.

She screamed his name.

“I’m okay,” he panted with his right hand still around her, his left wrapped over the railing like a hinge. He held himself in a kneeling squat on the narrow ledge, helping Prisca as best he could from that angle to reach her other hand to the rails. They paused for a moment trying to rest their tired, adrenaline filled limbs. Both of them panted, catching their breaths until Prisca broke the silence.

“Why?” She coughed peeking at him with her head turned to the side slightly, afraid to look down.

“Why did you do that you could have gone over!”

Henry cursed.

“You went over!” He tightened his grip around her with his right arm.

“Why? Prisc why did you jump?”

The crack in his voice cut her but she could still be petty.

“You found my note,” she waited and he nodded in reply so she continued. “Then you know why. My whole lif—“

“Bullshit!” Henry interrupted. “Prisca just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.” He took many breaths between groups of words. She thought about how tired he must be. “It just means you aren’t looking.”

Before she could protest or argue he continued.

Prisca covered her eyes not wanting to see, then kept them closed as she covered her ears not wanting to hear the next part either. The helpful she peeled her hands away shaking her head kindly but sadly.

“You have to.” She said simply. And Prisca watched.

“You’ve always kept so much of yourself hidden, Prisca, because you lost so much before you even knew you had anything to lose. But you don’t get to think that you don’t deserve love just because you think you’ve never been loved by anyone before. I’ve read all your stories Prisca, you write about the thing you want most in life the thing you won’t find in death, we both know you don’t think you’ll fall into the loving grasp of any sort of heaven because you don’t believe in god you don’t think there’s a heaven.” Henry swallowed painfully with tears in his eyes.

“You write about love because you think you’ve never had it but you’re wrong. You’ve always had it you just couldn’t see it because your view of it was so misconstrued from childhood. Your father loved you he just died before he could tell you when you were old enough to commit it to memory. Your mother loves you, she just couldn’t bear to articulate it enough because it destroyed her to lose your father. All of your friends adore you and would be devastated to find out you killed yourself before even coming to them with your problems. How can you think you’ve never been loved you idiot, you’ve been loved your whole life!

I’ve loved you your whole life! Ever since we were kids. The day we met I went home and I told my parents I met the most beautiful girl and I was in love with her.”

The Prisca’s sobbed. Each and every one of them.

“I’ve loved you our whole lives and after this I will love you still. But you’ve never looked at someone the way I look at you and I think you’re scared you can’t love someone even if you tried. So I promise, I promise, I will spend the rest of our lives together helping you understand that you have always been capable of love and being loved.”

She sobbed on the bridge but when Henry saw her eyes he could see a tiny spark of life like he used to.

“Are you ready to get off this bridge?” He asked smiling.

Prisca nodded sniffling and began to pull herself up with Henry’s support. Once safely on the other side of the railing again she hovered near Henry to lend her help if needed.

Most of the muscles in his legs were numb from running and holding himself in a crouch on the ledge for so long. The muscles in his arms had grown weak from holding Prisca and his left arm had gone completely numb from being locked around the railing for so long supporting almost all of his body weight.

Prisca watched his legs tremble. It was so subtle but this time she knew where to look.

Henry successfully pulled his upper body up to rest on the railing while he swung a leg over but his legs were so tired.

The toes of his rubber soled shoe slipped on the cold steel of the ledge and he slid down the rail finding a meager grip on the vertical poles supporting it.

Prisca screamed his name.

“Hold on, hold on Henry,” she begged frantically as she leaned over the rail to reach him. “ Grab on!”

The world came to a halt. Slowly, so slowly as if stuck in molasses, they reached for each other. As the last of his strength left him and he slipped away; Prisca’s index finger brushed his. Gently, so gently as if admiring the delicate petal on a beloved flower.

Prisca sobbed touching the tip of her finger where it had barely met Henry’s. She could still feel it.

All the other Priscas slowly looked at her from their seats with eyes full of tears and compassion. Though they all made fun of each other while watching their lives on the big screen reveling in each of their triumphs and laughing and smiling at all their joys and fun; they all also relived each other’s sorrows and heartbreaks and suffered the ache that it brought creating a solidarity not found amongst the living.

All Prisca could see were his wide, terrified eyes as she watched him fall further and further from her. Her scream echoed through all the empty space around her finding quarrel only with the vibrations from his own.

As she watched his dark shape, too far away now to discern any features, enter the glowing rapids and disappear with a soft, muffled splash, Prisca’s legs gave out beneath her and she slumped, convulsing with sobs, to the pavement.

Hours, minutes or seconds passed before she could rise again. Blinded by tears Prisca stood shakily, finding support on the rail. She stared hollowly at the water beneath. It looked the same as it had when she first came to the bridge. Someone could have passed right by unbeknownst to the tragedy that had unfolded.

And she screamed at herself the she on the screen as all the she’s had screamed at the motion pictures before the current one.

“You idiot! You fucking idiot! It was right there, he was right there!”

Was she referring to his love or his hands as she reached for them?

The she’s, all of them, joined the newest in the wailing and fits; crying and screaming and cursing.

‘There’s no higher power in the universe dictating fate, it’s all just chaos,’ she thought. ‘And even if there was it did not see fit to let me love and be loved. It proved that when it let him fall. I’ll never find that again, I’ll never be whole again if I ever was.’

Silently Prisca cursed the whole world and beyond and the things in which people found faith.

She jumped like she always did. And in the end the water looked the same as it had before.

End Note:

This is just a part of a whole where I promise the struggling all makes sense if I do my job correctly. Once finished it should be clear that this novel is about hope rather than depression.