The truth about me

I was at the don river, under the richmond bridge (as it passes over the river), just letting my feet dangle over the edge of the black stinky water — the river goes down at least 20 feet at that point. I watched the driftwood float by and stared blankly into the water for several hours while this assault happened.

My sweaty dirty greasy skin will be cooled by the gentle summer breeze as I look below from the viaduct — the cars still steadily screaming north/southbound even at 4AM.

My hands will release and my cellphone, with my phonebook and all connections with my friends and family, will drop and gently plummet to the eventual release; my release from this world is my only comfort.

I glance over to my right — I see the emergency helpline phone at the beginning of the viaduct. the phone has been ripped out and the line dangling; a reminder that there’s no other way.

“probably some fuckin kids ripped out the phone as a joke”, I muttered.

I turn my attention to the don river below. I can see debris slowly floating southward as the river flows to the lake. A shopping cart is entrenched in the mud riverbank, tangled in the brush and half covered in plastic bags.

“I think this will be my final resting spot” , I mumble.

Over I go from the railing , as the wind rushes in my face I see a small light materializing on top of the shopping cart where Im headed — the next dimension opens up and I am sucked through into the cold black abyss, finally releasing myself.