I've been half working on this for a long time. It's not horribly long, but it's about as long as my writing gets (that's a complete lie). I actually have just been writing it on and off, and finally got bored of it, so I wrote the ending. The story of my life. So here it is....
Doubt
The fire danced behind her closed eyes with spots of purple contrasting the violent flames. She opened her eyes again and took a long drag from the cigarette in her hand, then stabbed out the cigarette on her arm. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.
Life sucks, she mused, wishing she had another cigarette to ease blows that she should have seen coming. Staring out at the waves it looked like each one was beckoning her, but at the same time warning her away from the vast emptiness of the ocean. She could hear the cars rushing behind her, but she found that for the first time she didn’t care who was driving behind her, wondering what she was doing, sitting on a bridge staring off into the horizon. Damn it, she couldn’t even see the horizon, another sharp reminder of how far she had gotten off track with her life.
She had always wanted to be an individual, unique, and different from those around her. All that got her was an identity that was wonderfully boring and exactly the same as every poser who walked down the streets, because in reality, they were all posers, trying to manipulate life so that it fell into their own hands, trying to play hide-and-seek with fate. Hell if they didn’t realize at some point or another that it was useless trying to play hide-and-seek, because fate didn’t have to seek. It was carried around in your pocket every day, and didn’t wash out with soap and water.
Fate was what told her to become an artist. It was what told her that she would be successful, rich, and famous. At least, that’s what should have happened. In reality, she had been blind to fate’s actual intentions, making them fit her own parameters. And thus, fate had caught up with her, leaving her with almost no money to her name, no house to call her own. Fate had left her eating off the McDonald’s Dollar Menu every day, and at nights, sleeping on the floor of the room she was renting, but couldn’t afford furniture for.
She didn’t quite know when it had become too much for her to handle. For a long time she had just been following routine, so it wasn’t too much pressure. But the routine had also created an aura of meaningless existence, which soon enveloped her in an uncomfortable blanket of worthlessness. Her life no longer had a direction, a goal, or a point. But they were all the same thing, because when having a direction there had to be an end, a goal, and to have a goal there had to be a point.
Biting back tears was pointless now, so she let herself cry, first out of sorrow, then out of anger, and then just because it felt good. What did it mean now to be strong, and hold back the tears. What did it mean now to grin and bear it, to suck it up. Nothing, it meant nothing, because there was nothing left to bear. No more weights on her shoulders, not allowing her to continue with her life in peace. No more anything, because the decision was made.
Standing up, she looked back towards the waves. They only looked beckoning now, no warnings in the shadows of the white crests. Climbing over the railing, she heard a car behind her screech to a stop, and wondered with a smile if they were stopping for her. She was over the railing now, but still holding on to it, waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. Five minutes passed in silence, until she heard the murmur of a crowd behind her. It was now or never. She let go of the railing. There was the faintest flicker of doubt. A gasp, the sting, and then it was over.
