leaving behind. No matter how much pain she caused them, no parent wants to outlive their child like theirs will. No friend wants to see someone the photo of a close friend above their casket, but she wanted to burden them with her existence no further. Then there was her daughter, her sweet, caring, loving daughter. The pain the woman saw in her child's face every time they were together was simply unbearable. She recalled before the crash that she and her daughter always made jokes to each other. Now when she tried, neither laughed like they used to. She could see it in her teen's eyes that she was in pain, that all she wanted was for her mother to come back and be herself again, it was a wish that would never come to fruition. The woman knew that when her daughter looked at her, she saw the same melancholic, blank expression. The woman wanted to be back to normal too, but they both knew that wishes and prayers were fruitless now.
In the boat of her life, the woman had gone from being the strong, natural leader captain to being the anchor, slowing everyone and everything around her down. Making it impossible for any of it to move much further. But she was about to make a remedy to that. That anchor would soon be cut loose.
She looked around one last time, taking all the foggy area in. She believed deep down that if she saw someone in her position, she'd always stop to help anyway she could, try to talk them away. But that opportunity never came, and now it never would. Taking a final, deep breath, she began to loosen her grip on the railing.
-
The young man looked over the side of the bridge, feeling the cool mist from below grace his face. To him it was quite the ending to have in his journey. It wasn't the one he had expected, not by a long shot, but it was the one that he wanted most of all now. He'd been through so much pain, so much depression, so much destruction. He wanted no more of it, and he knew just how to get out of it all.
His first attempt to hop over the railing was a clumsy one, his motionless leg weighed him down. He tried once more, and again to no avail. Finally it became obvious what he had to do in order to get to what he was already so amazingly close to. Rolling up his pant leg, the young man loosened up the straps of his prosthetic and let it sit on the sidewalk as he hopped over the side once more.
He told the paramedics and the doctors to save his leg. No matter what the cost, no matter how its done, he commanded them to save it. They defied him. All of them kept saying that there was no way to hang onto it, there was no possible way to piece it back together and get all the muscles and nerves working again. It was dead weight they said, as if there were talking about his whole future career as a burden as well. They stole his leg, they stole his sport, they stole every ounce of pride that he had. If they'd have wanted, they would've stolen his life too, but he wasn't prepared to let them do that. That was his job, and unlike them, he was going to do it perfectly.
Sitting on the edge of the bridge, feet dangling freely, nothing but death below to catch him, the young man smiled, for the first time in an eternity. So much of his life had been ripped away so violently and so very quickly. None of it was fair, not a single bit of it. He had no choice in keeping his leg, he had no choice in losing his football position, he had no choice in losing his scholarship and being forced to leave school. But he had choice in one thing still, and he made his mind up about it. His life was still in his hand, it was his to give up if he wanted to, and God did he want to. There was nothing left for him in this life, nor would there ever be. All was gone, all was destroyed, all but the empty shell of a person left behind after it all. But that would soon be washed away with the rest.
Taking a final look around, the young man sighed. He had a thought. If he were to see someone in his position, he'd probably lend them a hand, tell them to go home and truly think about what they're doing to themselves. But, through the fog he saw no one else, no one that he could talk to, no one for him to help, no one to help him.
Turning back to the water below the bridge, the young man tried to shake that thought out of his head. He figured that if he was going to have a final thought before it's all over, it ought to be a nice one. And so he thought of the game, the smell of the turf and the look of the crowded stadium. He smiled. His last thought was a good one.
-
There's a saying a few survivors have said: if the world can't kill you, it'll sure as shit make you wish that it had. The crash took the lives of a hundred and seven people, leaving thirty-three survivors, thirty-three people who were, as the media had put it, very lucky to be alive after their ordeal.
To all on the outside, the survivors got the long sticks in the bunch. So many people lost the biggest thing most people on the outside could fathom to lose. So oblivious they all were, so stupid. To think the loss of one's own life is the greatest thing a person can lose, simply selfish in the minds of our bridge trio. One's own heartbeat and brain function can be taken by oneself whenever they choose, but that is not truly where one's life lives. A person's true life can be torn away from the beholder without a single moment of warning, it is something completely out of one's control.
Some people on that plane lost their lives, but others lost far more than that. Some lost their past, others their future, while some simply lost every single thing that they held dear. In our bridge trio we see that the saying rings true. If the world can't kill you, it'll make you wish it had. Thus is life. Thus is death. Thus is the curse of the, "lucky people".
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About the Author
Mitch Goth currently resides in Yellow Springs, Ohio, where he attends Antioch College. When not writing, he spends his time investigating the paranormal and indulging in a good book or movie.
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