Raincoat

• Molly Bridger, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2016

The pattering of rain drums against concrete, shimmering puddles of grey mirroring the darkened world back to the sky that churns with cloud and anger.
Her blue raincoat blends with drab high-rises, her ragged shoes slosh through water. With every crystal raindrop that pounds the pavement, a tear follows.
Her hands are lapis; from cold or bruise, she doesn’t know. The blue raincoat bobs gently down the street with her every step, and violently with her every sob.
The sky roars with the fury of thunder, reminiscent of his. For she failed again today, she broke a promise she could not keep, and she broke a heart too. Hers or his she doesn’t know.
The girl’s lips are numb from the mid-winter air, chapped and stinging with a salty aftertaste of bitter remorse. Her eyes are blurry with fear, and her chest heavy with guilt. The looming bridge ahead is a dread she’s not sure she is ready to face. For today she made a mistake, she can’t ever seem to get anything right.
Her fingers dance upon the frigid railing of the bridge, and each step labours with her shattered lungs and aching ribs. Pain, it’s a welcome distraction from her warped reality: Every shadow has eyes, every car is a roaring beast, and every puddle is a portal to another world.
The girl’s mind drifts. Somewhere, somewhere, it must be sunny. But not here. Not anymore...
She reaches the bridge’s summit. The blue raincoat a wraith in the beating rain. She grips the railing, hands white, eyes drawn, face skeletal and thoughts swimming in a pool of doubt. The girl is not afraid, not of falling, not of drowning, not of dying. But she is afraid of him.
With a grunt she hauls her broken body over the railing, feet dangling in open air. There’s nothing down there. Just a drop. Quick. Clean. Easy. Just a fall away from oblivion.
The girl sits and contemplates. Cars pass by, lights stream down the bridge, but none stop. Each to their own; each lost in their own bubble world.
Her panting is heavy, heavy with panic. The girl’s hand slips and she screams, fighting for stability. She doesn’t want to fall by accident; she wants to fall of her own accord. She wants control of this one thing, of this one task. She has never had control of anything else in her life.
Slow breaths, slow heart. Her mind is made up. She knows what she’s going to do. Is she brave enough for it? Foolish enough? Crazy? Yes.
The blue raincoat bobs in grey, floating amongst raindrops, falling like ash. Silent.
The world stops. No one is here— No one to witness.
The navy depths of the water.
The blue of the raincoat.
The scarlet of blood.
A mistake.