Rio Hondo Bridge would be the perfect site for suicide. I had heard of Rio Hondos that committed quietly suicide on the bride and never survived the strokes. It was the tallest bridge in the southeast Rio.
Measuring over fifty thousand meters vertically and running into the depth of the ocean with over fifty thousand meters, it would take the expertise of talented divers to find the corpse of anyone that fell therein. And that was the perfect site for me. I didn’t want anyone to discover my corpse. I wondered who would be interested in the corpse of a poor delivery jaded boy that breathed misery.
No one knew my intention. Once father’s corpse was deposited at the morgue, I quietly sneaked out and started making towards the Rio Hondo Bridge. I wasn’t scared of death, and I didn’t think any of us were scared of death; we were only scared of the strokes of death.
These strokes of suicide were going to be peaceful, gentle, hidden and unmemorable. I wasn’t a good swimmer so falling over a bridge with the height of a skyscraper was enough to end this miserable life of mine. Only a lucky onlooker, probably from a car would see me jump over the bridge. I would endear to make it secretive and gentle. No one was supposed to know or hold me back. Please no one should!
“Why would anyone stop me from leaving this horrible world? What was I living for? What and who could I call mine? I had lost everything that made a man. Everyone and the society at large treated me like a piece of shit. If I should continue living my pain would only amount to a greater loopy pain.
There was nothing to live for! Yes! I was a bastard. I believed it was what father wanted to remind me once again before his death. He had told me he picked me from the harsh streets of Rio Hondo and adopted me as his son. He had told me I was an embodiment of ruin shame and poverty. And since I came in his life, he had known nothing but poverty and shame.
Morgan Harris would be excited to hear of my suicide. And the fifteen billion dollars he siphoned would never be revisited by any jury anymore since the culprit had committed suicide. Morgan Harris would never be held questionable. My suicide would earn many people eternal freedom and Morgan Harris was one of them.
My ex wife Melissa Fanny and her rich family, the Fanny would drink a toast to my suicide. Lisa Bake would lead the cheer and nothing in this life would stop her from calling me son-in-law of shame. Melissa would have excitement on her chin for finally eradicating her poor ex-husband from the surface of Rio Hondo. Of course Fanny Luis would label me a coward.
But in all of this, I didn’t care about their notion and what would be their take on my death.
When I got to the Rio Hondo bridge it was almost dusk, and with the balls of sweat that stood on the brow of my head and my impatient gasping, I knew my mind was made up.
At the time cars and bikes were speeding past sending across my skin chilling wind that dried up my sweating body for the last time. When I stood on the pavement that led to the rail, I broke down in tears. I never planned to thread this path fifteen years ago in jail. I never wanted to take my life upon leaving jail.
All I wanted was reunite with my family, wife and succeed in an endeavor. But all I wanted didn’t want me.
“Death awaits all mortals,” I said through sniffing and weeping. I stood on the pavement, very much close to the rail that barricaded the bridge. I was few inches from the rail and any slight move by my leg could plunge me into the sea.
My end drew night as I the river made through the pebbled shore.
“Whichever ways your death comes it makes no difference in its inevitability,” I mumbled within myself , threw my legs across the rail and about to jump over , I heard a shrieking yell, before a car zoomed to a screeching halt, a door slammed furiously and a firm cold palms grabbed me by my ankle and dared to pull me away.
“Let me end it all! I want to die! I have nothing good to live for. Let me take my life!” I wailed at the tops of my voice, struggling to jump over.
“No suicide is not an option,” the man said gently.
When I glared at this man, he was thirty one years of age, ponytail-haired, tall and heavily built. He was donned in iconic, modern sleeves and jacket with buttons left open to reveal lush hair on his thick chest and a diamond necklace on his neck. His car was Ferrari. This man was obviously one of the money bags in Rio Hondo.
“I was driving past when I saw you. I can’t let you take your life just like that,” he intoned as he was still held onto my right leg.
I shook my head in the negative and insisted on jumping over the bridge. But this man wasn’t interested in my bickering anymore. A scar on my right foot had caught his attention.
With his inspective gaze still on the scar, he peered at my face and stared me from head to toss. He tapped me on the chin, “Who did you get this scar? Who are you?” He queried, stroking the scar.
I raised a brow, “What sort of question is that?” I retorted, “I am Brian Patrick. As for the scar I can’t tell. It has been on my foot from time immemorial…”
The man interposed me with a huge contagious smile before he bowed his head and hailed me, “Boss, I found you.”