The River Below

A few vehicles zoomed past him, heading towards God-knows-where. Frank envied them. They seemed to have a purpose. The truck drivers had a purpose. They were after money because they probably had a family and needed to provide for themselves and their families. They wanted the basic necessities of life that only money could buy. They probably wanted comfort, too. Or they wanted to have money to spend on drink or women or any other vanity. It did not matter. The point was— and which Frank could not deny— the truck drivers had a purpose. And even those that drove cars at that time of the day seemed to have a purpose. What was his own purpose? Frank could not even think up a good reason why he was driving down to Third Main Land Bridge tonight. Oh, he remembered now. He wanted to get a humbling by the mere fact of looking at the water body and coming to terms with his eventual death, which could come anytime if his enemies succeeded in finding a way to keep him underwater against his wish, thus drowning him. Also, he wanted the much cherished euphoria of watching the corpses of his enemies fall through the height of the bridge and into the water down below. He wanted the transcient joy of watching the cadavers hit the water. He wanted to hear the sound, the soothing splashing sound that the river would make when the bodies come in contact with it. It would delight him. It would intoxicate him very much. Yes, he had not forgotten how his very life was violently snatched from him when he was in his prime, when he was happy, when he was in love with Jenna, when they had already fixed a date for their wedding, when he had just bought a mansion in Leadville, when things were going very well for him financially by dint of his hard work after spending most of his life in abject penury; when he was truly happy, when his life was just beginning to get really interesting. It was that point in his life that enemies had broken into his house and murdered. In cold blood. Damn. Yes! He, too, had a purpose. Vengeance was his purpose. Killing evil people was his purpose. Yes, he had purpose as much as those drivers whose vehicles drove past. Except that his own purpose was white-hot, all-consuming, and it dictated what he did and how he reacted at any given point. Yes, he would focus on his purpose now and nothing else.

"Fuck happiness!" he said, and this time, he could feel the conviction in his heart. And it was powerful. Frank decided that he would concern himself solely on his mission, his purpose, without eyes or ears for anything else.

He started the car again and continued his journey. It was 3:32 A.M. now and he was almost at his preferred location at Third Main Land Bridge. Frank turned on the radio in his car and thankfully, country music was playing, and it kind of suited the moment. Frank wanted to feel some calm. Euphoria awaited him; he needed to prepare his mind for it so that he could savour it to the fullest.

At long last, he got to the particular spot where he wanted at Third Main Land Bridge. He left the engine running so the lights could still be on. Without looking up ahead, he sauntered to the back of the car, towards the boot and opened it. The metallic smell of death hit nose instantly, causing him to flinch a little.

"How noxious! Ha-ha!" he said. There was very few traffic on St George Road at that time but even if there was a lot of traffic, Frank could not care less about it. Anyone who interrupted him would regret it. This was his moment, woe betide anybody that would interfere.

Frank began to drag the bodies out of the boot, placing them on the ground.

"Idiots!" he laughed at the corpses. "I'm pretty sure you've robbed in many places before today, causing untold pain to a lot of people and even murdering innocent people, just like you attempted to kill me today. But, ho-ho! You came to the wrong place; you met the wrong person. This is nemesis. You've got your comeuppance. You've met your Waterloo. And today, your godforsaken bodies would find a permanent dwelling place in the belly of this river, where the fishes would feast on you and your souls would wander forever aimlessly and in misery, without a place for rest even for a minute. This is what you deserve. This is your destiny, delivered by my very own hands. Bastards!"

Frank lifted one of the corpses above his shoulders, set to haul it over the side of the bridge and into the river down below when his eyes caught the sight of a boy hanging precariously by at edge of the bridge, looking down at the water below, dead to everything around him, if not he would have been distracted by the sound of Frank's voice. If Frank's headlights had not been on, he would never have seen the boy hanging there.

Frank dropped the corpse, curious by what he had just seen. The headlights were beaming directly at the boy and he had so much as turned around to look at anything. Was he blind? Frank took slow steps towards the boy. A Cornoil tanker speed past at that moment, honking its horn as though a vehicle was in front of it. The horn was so defeaningly loud that it could jarr the nerve of anyone and distract them from anything they were doing or anything they wanted to do. But not that boy. He remained in that position, hanging very still on the horizontal bar at the edge of the bridge. And he was still looking at the water below. Frank studied the boy, fascinated and horrified by what he was seeing. He could see the boy's lips moving soundlessly. Was he praying? And what was he doing there by this time of the day? Who had driven him to this place? How had he gotten here? To Frank, the boy could not be more than 18 years of age. Frank took another step forward.

"Hey," he called, "what are you doing?"

But Frank knew that that question wasn't necessary. The boy did not look at his direction at all. It was clear that the boy was about to commit suicide.

"Don't," Frank heard himself say. It was strange and unusual, but Frank felt an overwhelming compassion for the boy. He had been at this point in his life before, where he was tired of everything and wanted nothing more than to end it all. His heart broke for the boy.

"Don't. Please don't," he said, his voice breaking. But nothing could deter the boy. He let his hand off the handhold and jumped down. A few seconds later, Frank had the loud splash of water as the boy's body came in contact with the river below.