Mick
Mick there, falling. Standing on the railing, then falling. Arms out, deep breath, hold it, holding it. Raising his head and closing his eyes, squeezing them shut tight. Rocking. Letting his body drift forward. Maybe having second thoughts just a little too late, arching his back to regain his balance but it is too late and he slips from the railing. Cars passed behind him. Headlights sometimes struck him as he stood, then fell over. Such a long way down. Silence. Wind in his ear. Then a crack when he hit the surface. Probably didn’t mean to do it, didn’t really mean to do it. A dare. Meant to stop himself, wanted to stop. Mick on the rocks. The same thing. Falling forward then tucking himself into a ball as he fell to make a bigger splash. Cannonball. Jackknife. Let’s have a splashing contest. He hit the water with a thunk and the spray shot straight toward them. Mick had good aim. His jackknife was the best. He always hit the water at just the right angle and got you even when you were thirty feet away. His intention on the bridge. Cars on the bridge. None stopped, saw him fall.