The morning breeze was chilling against the tears that streamed from her face as she stared into the dark waters, leaning over the Third Mainland Bridge. She had heard all sorts of tales about this bridge and waters beneath it. There were the more outlandish stories involving water spirits popularly known as Mami-Water, and there were others closer to reality like car crashes and suicide jumps. Today, she would be penning her story on the pages of the bridge. At 3am there were barely any cars on the road, the hawkers were definitely long gone. She looked around for an audience; she found none to behold her spectacle.
If a tree fell in a forest and no one heard the sound, could we still say it had fallen? A philosophical proposition she had often found fascinating. If I jumped off this bridge and no one heard the splash I made, would I still be dead? She finally had the answer of what now appeared to be a straightforward question.
They say suicide is the coward’s way out; easy for them to say. She took a deep breath and leaned further out. How could anyone possibly understand what she was going through? They would have to walk in her shoes first. All of a sudden she began to feel the burn of the heels she wore. Only if she could click them three times and wake up from this awful nightmare. She actually contemplated trying, but this was no time to indulge in childish fairytales and fantasies. She was nothing like Alice and Lagos was no Wonderland. She stepped out of the shoes and wondered if she really had it in her to take the leap or if this was nothing but a flirt with death to feel sorry for herself.
A pair of headlights came approaching. Fast at first, then slower when she guessed the driver would have noticed her. She knew someone was trying to be a hero. While she wanted nothing more than to be saved now, there was no saving for her. Not in this world anyways.
‘Hey, stop, don’t…’
That was about as much as she was willing to hear. Without as much as a glance at the car pulling to a stop, she toppled over the bridge in search of darkness, death, nothingness, a place to call home. She never learned how to swim so there was no getting out of this, try as she may. At best she managed a few pitiful strokes that did a lot more exhausting her body than getting her close to the shoreline. As her lungs began to fill with water, first she thrashed in desperation, then came the calm as her body and mind surrendered to the inevitable. She shouldn’t have taken off her new red shoes. Now she would be found dead without shoes…
By willifmoore’s blog