The Railway Bridge

Brendon had had a grand time at the pub and was feeling the effects of the four pints as it softened his edges and altered his gait. He was filled with a warm love of life after an evening spent with friends, drinking and laughing.

He headed towards the railway bridge, humming and muttering to himself drunkenly about what a great night he'd had.

The bridge was always in shadow but he didn't fear it. At over six feet tall, he was intimidating to anyone intent on approaching him and his rugby training meant he was up for a challenge, even with alcohol's mellowing.

He heard a noise and saw a figure sat on the edge of the bridge.

Before he had time to think, he'd shouted out a "Hello there!"

The figure turned and in the orange streetlight he saw a hooded face turn towards him, shocked and sad.

"Don't come close!"

Brendon was not quick to register the figure's distress and so responded with a "What are you doing up there on a cold night like this?"

The figure paused. To voice their intent out loud felt frightening even to them. Instead, they sobbed.

"Ah, you're all upset. What's wrong?" Brendon's bonhomie was irresistibly spilling over. All was right in his world and at the moment, he couldn't imagine it being anything different outside of his.

"Leave me alone."

Brendon shrugged and went to say something but sensed resistance. His brain was starting to piece signals together: night, loner, railway bridge, antisocial.

A jumper.

But his tact hadn't caught up.

"Ah, you wouldn't be thinking of jumping now, would you?"

"Can you just leave?"

The emotion was raw in the figure's voice.

Brendon couldn't leave. It wasn't right.

"Don't go anywhere! I'm coming up for a chat!"

"No!"

But Brendon was clumsy with drink and in attempting to climb, slipped, and took a tumble down into brambles.

*

"Are you alright?"

Brendon was bruised with thorns penetrating him in strange places.

A concerned face looked down at him. The hooded figure from the bridge.

He smiled.

"Well, look at you!"

And despite herself and her misery, the hooded figure smiled sheepishly and offered her hand.

***

366 words

Imagine Brendon with a lovable Irish brogue when reading this, if you will, to get the full essence of the character I was trying to convey. Like a big happy puppy dog.

Thanks for stopping by! If you do read this, please do leave a comment as I like to interact with my readers.

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