FirstLineFiction beta

from Contest #8

'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' she told me the first time we met.

I was so deeply entwined in my thoughts that it physically hurt to be pulled back to my bleak reality so quickly. I winced as I shifted my body slightly in order to see her.

She was small. That was what I noticed first about her, and what struck me so deeply. She was just a kid. Still innocent, still hopeful, still waiting for her time to come. Seeing her instinctively made me regress to an earlier version of myself. I wanted to stick my tongue out at her, for using such a "tattle-tale" sort of tone with me.

I turned back to the swirling depth beneath my feet. It churned and roiled, rivaling the sea in it's ferocity. Like a caged animal, it waited for an opportunity, until a storm broke, to unleash its barbarism on the world. This animal, this bubbling, gurglng, sucking river was hungry, and long over-due to be fed. Sighing, I looked back at her.

I was surprised. I felt annoyed, even belittled, by this little waif of a girl. The way she just stood there in silence, watching this moment that was so personal to me...it made me feel angry. I hadn't felt anything for so long... Maybe I could allow myself just this moment, for the sake of feeling something one more time.

Blatantly, I studied her, straining my eyes in the dark to capture her image. It wasn't like it would matter if I was rude.

She was standing under a streetlamp, which was burnt out. Sardonically, I thought, How cliche. It's around midnight, and everyone has gone into their warm, cozy houses except us, and we're standing on a deserted, dark street. And at least one of us has a shady agenda. It doesn't get better than that. It was comforting to know that, despite the circumstances, I was able to preserve my sense of humor.

But the pressing darkness made it difficult for me to see her clearly. I could make out her light, wispy brown hair, and how the fluent night breeze picked at it and her clothing, swirling them around her so it looked as if she shimmered. In the brief moments that it stopped, her hair slightly curled at the ends, falling just past her shoulders. Little pieces of it framed her face, fell onto her forehead in the most carefree kind of way. Other than that, I couldn't define much of her face from the surrounding night. I couldn't even tell what color her eyes were. All I could see was her arms swinging at her sides; I could her her humming a nursery rhyme.

Wanting to step closer, but not wanting to scare her away, I stood there, over the roaring water, watching in silence.

Finally, after many moments of studying each other, she spoke.

"I said, I wouldn't do that. You'll regret it later." With this she stepped foreword, and I gasped.

Just that one step brought her into clear, intense focus. Now I could see her perfect, angelic face: heart shaped, with a high forehead, wide-spread eyes, rosy cheeks, and petite chin.

But that wasn't the reason I gasped, mouth a jar in astonishment. No, I was so taken aback because I could now see her eyes, and it was like staring into her soul.

She had the bluest, youngest eyes I had ever seen, and they were widened in innocent sincerity, framed by a semi-circle of black lashes. Looking into those eyes, I could see glaciers and mountain pools and summer skies. I could taste the Mediterranean sea salt on my tongue, hear tinkling laughter of children at the swimming pool. Just seeing her, really seeing her made the tears rush to my eyes, made them spill over and dribble down the length of my cheeks.

Who was this girl, and how was she able to make me remember, make me feel so intensely what I hadn't in an eternity?

Her face scrunched in worry, and a shot of apprehension penetrated my stomach at the thought of causing her any anxiety. Again, she said, "Please, don't do it. You can never take it back."

I was a stupefied, ogling monkey, and I realized it in that moment. Swallowing, I frantically searched my mind for a reply. She couldn't possibly mean what I thought she did. She couldn't know; I was making up excuses.

Finding my long-lost words, I finally said, "What is it you think I shouldn't do?"

She didn't reply, just slew me with her grave blue eyes. pursing her lips in a way that clearly said she knew what I was up to. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and suddenly I was grateful for the light breeze.

When I gave no indication of confessing, she crossed her arms and said, "Jump."

I blanched. "W-what?"

She blew out an exasperated breath. "As if you don't already know. Jump. Don't jump."

At this she shifted her eyes to look past me, directing my eyes to the monstrous river savagely lurching under our feet.

No. No. She didn't know what she was talking about. No. I shook my head back and forth. At some point, I must have started to voice my mental rejection, because she snapped at me after the seventh or eighth denial.

"Yes. Yes! I know you were thinking about it. I know you intended to do it. I know that you've been planning it. And I know that you've come here every night, since October, just to look at it. Just to see how it moves. To imagine what you would look like, being sucked under by the current."

I blinked. My heart sank. Emotions flitted in and out of focus, too quickly for me to grasp onto one. I closed my eyes. Shook my head a couple more times. I didn't know whether I should be relieved, that someone had found me out, or if I should be horrified, angry at the fact that they would now try to stop me. I didn't want to live anymore. I hadn't wanted to live for a very long time.

Something warm and fragile feeling brushed my hand. My eyes flew open. She was standing there, pressing my hand, offering comfort to somebody she didn't even know. A stranger. Children weren't even supposed to talk to talk to strangers. I sucked in a breath, suppressing a fresh round of tears. I hadn't cried this much sinch I was a little boy and my cat died.

I couldn't fathom this kindness, and it was too much. Too much to handle, too much for my sake. i didn't deserve this. And yet it was being offered, without want for anything in return.

Gasping, swallowing, frantically trying to compose myself in front of this little girl, I managed to choke out, "Who are you?"

She tilted her head back in order to look at me. I noticed again how tiny she was. The top of her head came to my waist. "Who do you think I am?"

I contemplated her question, searching my mind for an appropriate answer. I thought for a moment that she might be God, or an angel, but I immediately dismissed it. God was a man, and besides, I didn't believe in him or his angels.

But this was the closest thing to a miracle that I had ever seen...

I settled on a more practical answer, if not one just as crazy. "Are you my conscience? A projection of my ego, here to try to talk me out of what I want to do?"

She shrugged. "I could be. Or I could be something entirely different. It doesn't really matter. What does matter is that I do want to talk you out of what you were going to do. And I don't really believe that you want to kill yourself."

I winced at the harsh terms she put my perdicament into. It was even more of a shock to hear those words coming from the mouth of a little girl, whether she be real or not. When she said it like that, it sort of put everything into perspective.

"It does matter, and I do want to kill myself. If you're just a figment of my imagination, then you're something I should ignore. It would mean that you're an excuse for me to back out. A way for me to be the coward I truly am."

She regarded me coolly. She didn't speak for a long time.

Then, "Tell me, why is it you want to kill yourself? What could be so horrible that you can't fix it?"

I leaned back. "Uh..."

In all honesty, I didn't really know. I had done horrible things, but nothing that couldn't, or hadn't already been, fixed. But I was young, only just into my twenties. I was afraid of what I might continue to do, and that one thing that I would inevitably mess up, that one thing that I couldn't ever fix, no matter how hard I tried.

"Well?" She was tapping her foot.

"I'm a bad person." That summed it up nicely.

"Why?"

I frowned. "I've done bad things."

"Things that can't be fixed?"

I remained silent.

"Thought so. What have you done, then, that was so bad?"

"I litter," I rolled my eyes. "I don't look both ways when I cross the street."

Her face adopted an edge, one more than irritated, but all out angry. "This is serious. If you don't want my help, then I'll leave. I'll let you jump off of this bridge."

I sobered immediately. Maybe it would be better if she left, if she did let me die. But with her around, I wanted to be selfish for a few more minutes. I wanted to live just a little longer. Just to talk to her.

She was waiting for me to list all of my bad deeds. I sighed, mentally preparing to comply.

"I'm a selfish person; I don't care about others. Most of the time I'm too wrapped up in my own worries to notice what's happening around me."

"So is everybody else in the world. Go on."

"Hey, I'm not going to go anywhere if you're going to be a sassy little--"

"Okay, sorry. Go on, please."

I sighed. Maybe this was a mistake. "I don't believe in peace, I don't cry when a starving child in Africa dies. If it's not happening on my doorstep, it doesn't matter. Even when it is close to home...I often don't notice if a friend is depressed, and I don't take the time to get to know anyone, more than the insignificant, shallow side of them."

If it was a mistake to tell her all of this, any chance to salvage the situation was far gone by now. I was on a role, and the words gushed from my mouth, rolling past my lips like the river rolled beneath me. "I hate volunteering, I don't go to church, I never read. I've had a hard life; my family wasn't exactly the conventional kind. My father was abusive, he'd knock us around whenever he got the chance. My mother was a drunk. My sister got knocked up when she was fifteen, and moved in with her nineteen year old boyfriend. I take my anger out on people who don't deserve to get drowned in all of my toxic shit. Oh, and I also swear. Profusely. I cheat on my taxes. I've never loved somebody before; no one has ever loved me. I've been crude, I've been cruel, I've been rude; you would be repulsed by my behavior. And so has everyone else I've ever met. And it's not so much a big event, a monumental act that I can't ever take back, that pushed me over the line between a good person and a bad person. But it's the little things, all of them. They add up and they weigh down on me, and every little thing I do drags me further and further away from my good nature. And I'm sick of it. I can't change myself, even if I tried. So it's easier to just end it."

When I finished, I was panting, shaking all over. I didn't want to deal with this. But she was forcing me too.

"Why can't you change?"

After staining the night air with all of my problems, it took me a moment to process her question. "What?"

"What makes you think that you can't change?"

"I'm a terrible person. I don't deserve to live."

"Well, obviously," she said. "from what I've heard. But if you can recognize that you are a horrible person--identify it, feel remorse--Well, that's the first step to recovery. Admitting you have a problem."

I stared at her, incredulous. "I can't. I can't do it."

That edge crept into her voice. "Why can't you?"

"I...I--"

Her face now reflected that edge. She was furious. "I'll tell you why. You don't think you can because you're too lazy. You don't want to invest the time into working through your problems, because it's too much work. Or, better yet, you're afraid you might actually help yourself. And then you won't be able to feed off of the drama."

My eyes popped open, and I started to protest, but she cut me off.

"Or maybe you're afraid to help yourself, not because you want attention, but because you don't know why you're here, what you're going to do with your life, and if you even start to figure it out, then you're scared you'll end up to be a run-down piece of junk, unable to be fixed."

We were both silent. There was nothing else to say. Hesitantly, I looked back over my shoulder, at the river, that river that would take my life or watch it walk right by.

I didn't know what to do.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, "Go home."

I nodded. "And then?"

"Go to bed, and think about your life. You can be fixed, I promise. It isn't as bad as it seems, and neither are you."

Again, I nodded, not meeting her eyes. "And then?"

She moved her head, tilting it, trying to catch my eye. Finally, I looked up, and she gave me some final advice.

"And then live."

Our eyes locked, and some unspoken understanding was exchanged. If I decided to go through with my suicide, then she wouldn't be here again. She had given me all that she could. And I had taken it, used it to grow. God, I had grown so much in this one night.

I didn't think that I would be jumping off any bridges. Not tonight, not ever. If I didn't like who I was, I would take her advice and change myself. Change was inevitable, after all. Yes, I had issues. But everyone does, as much as they don't want to fact up to it. Sometimes more drastic measures were needed to help them solve their issues.

But I would take any that I needed. Because, for the first time, maybe in my whole lifetime, I wanted to live. I would get help, or adopt a pet, or move across the country and start all over again. But I was not going to die; I didn't want to.

And it was all because of that little girl.

Again, I asked, "Who are you?"

She said, "I'm your subconscious, I'm your guardian angel. I'm the winds of change, I'm an illusion, I'm you."

She turned to go, blowing me a kiss before striding down the dark street.

"Wait!" I yelled. "What's your name?"

She turned back, for just a minute. She was too far away for me to hear what she said, but I could see her lips moving and her eyes burning the darkness away. And on the breeze, I could seem to hear her words.

"I'm hope."

With that, she dissolved into the darkness. Her eyes were the last to disappear.

I closed my eyes and pictured them again. I was grateful. I was glad. And I was looking forward to my future.

Tonight, Hope had visited me. And the tides were shifting.

back to Contest #8