The Bridge: novelle om selvmordstanker

So here I am. Standing on a bridge. “How did you end here?” you may ask. And I can reply “I have no idea”. The only thing I’m completely sure about is that I deserve to fall. I deserve to let go of the bridge side and fall down to the raging water below. My fingers were like small ice taps. The drizzle cooled me down slowly, and small tears streamed down my cheeks. I leant forward and the wind started to grab hold of my clothes. One finger at the time let go of the bridge and my body got closer to the water. I could hear the water below, almost screaming for me. It greeted me welcome. It sounded promising, and just like a blessing. It was the sound of a new chance, but also the sound of loneliness for me. I had nothing.

Another finger let go. Now 7 fingers held me up.

Luckily there where no one on the bridge, so I could do this by myself. I tried to remember why I was standing here. I think it was because of my family. I have never met my mom, ‘cause she died a few hours after I was born. Ever since, my father has blamed me for her death. He meant that I was course of her death. That I was a monster that brings nothing but terror and death with her. That’s why he left me at a children home when I was 10 years old. I have been there ever since. I am 16 now. And you may think that it’s easy to grow up in a children home, but trust me it’s not. I have gotten no education, no proper food and no proper clothes. I have spent 6 years of my sucky life and it hasn’t been a dance on roses. It was really brutal. Everyone had to fight for everything. The only thing that had kept in the “game” of fighting for stuff I wanted at the children home was “that boy”.