WIP of a recent nonfiction piece.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Hawthorne.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was mid-afternoon, beneath the blazing Portland sun, when I saw the Hawthorne Bridge. Our PE class was moving swiftly through the city, ensuring we got back to the school on time, but I felt my legs turn to lead as I approached the massive feat of engineering. My eyes flickered to the waterfront, where boats cruised beneath, tearing through the water\u2019s surface. And for a moment, a single instant, I wondered what it would be like to drown.<\/p>\n
I focused ahead of me, attempted to make conversation with my best friend, Sam, who walked alongside me. She was tired and out of breath and made for poor company as we got ever closer to the bridge\u2019s ramp. Every hair on my body stood on end. Vomit boiled in my throat as I did my best to force it back to my stomach. I glanced down at my feet, hoping to center myself on something I could rely on\u2014my own body. Step after step after step. Tap, tap, tap<\/em>.<\/p>\n That\u2019s right. Just keep going forward. Just keep walking. You can do this.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cLauren, watch out,\u201d Sam said, on my right, looking up at me. I startled, looking up to see I had steadily moved closer towards the water. I laughed awkwardly and shifted my own mind to solely controlling my legs. I had to walk across the bridge. I had to reach the other side alive.<\/p>\n Or I could throw myself off.<\/em><\/p>\n I stepped onto the metal, a shiver through me from my foot to my skull. My heart stopped for a few beats. I curled my hands into fists, feeling my fingernails dig into my palms. I moved to be as far left as I could, keeping myself from the edge of the walkway. Sam glanced at me quizzically. She had no idea of my plan. I never told her. I never told her I wanted to run away from home and throw myself off this very bridge, hoping my neck would snap upon impact with the water. She just thought I was acting a little funny.<\/p>\n And I was. God, I was. Each step I took moved me further across the bridge, yes, but I would frequently find myself by the railing once again, running my hand across it, staring down below.<\/p>\n I could do it.<\/em> My hand gripped the railing tighter. I could just throw myself off. No one would stop me. Maybe I can jump right onto that boat. That\u2019ll surely kill me.<\/em><\/p>\n I imagined what it would be like. A moment of freedom, at last, weightless as I fell. Would time really slow? Would I see my life flash before my eyes? Or would I hit the water and that would be the it, without some grand, romanticized end? I wondered if they would even find my body. I wondered if they would even look.<\/p>\n I jerked myself away from the side, fear crawling up my shoulders. Every fiber of my being wanted it. Every nerve buzzed in anticipation. My own body drew me towards the side, and before I knew it, I was at the back of the pack. Sam was ahead of me. I was behind her. I could do it. I could really do it.<\/p>\n I watched myself die over and over in my head. Once, my ribs broke and I suffocated on my own blood. Someone fished me out of the water, but I couldn\u2019t be saved. I imagined I survived the initial fall and swam as far down as I could. If I reached the bottom, I would put a rock on my chest. If I didn\u2019t, well, maybe a boat would churn my unconscious body up. Maybe I wouldn\u2019t even feel it.<\/p>\n And that was what scared me most of all: not only did my mind want me dead, but now my body was finally agreeing with it. The edge beckoned me, wrapped ghostly fingers around my wrist and dragged itself closer to me. With a sickening smile, it showed me its rows of teeth, dripping with saliva. The water below was ebony, bodies floating on the surface, bobbing beneath the waves and tumbling beneath boats. Horror gripped my throat when I realized every single form was me. The decapitated head, the one with the bent neck, the one choking on her own blood. The ones that didn\u2019t die were screaming. Their voices\u2014my<\/em> voice\u2014rang in my ears, draining the blood from my face. The edge tugged at my wrist. I stumbled towards the railing, my hands bracing me against it. My feet were already starting to climb over. My knuckles grew white as I tried to keep myself there. I fought against my body to last longer than a few more minutes. Tears began to choke the back of my throat. The edge laughed. I heard myself screaming.<\/p>\n We stepped off the bridge. I looked at my hands, touching the crescent shapes left by my fingernails. I couldn\u2019t want to live more than I did in that moment.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" WIP of a recent nonfiction piece. Hawthorne. It was mid-afternoon, beneath the blazing Portland sun, when I saw the Hawthorne Bridge. Our PE class was moving swiftly through the city, ensuring we got back to the school on time, but I felt my legs turn to lead as…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[283],"tags":[291,289,290,158,287,206,207,157,12,238,288,68,92,69,292,293,295,294,297,296,114,60,97,284,286,285,37],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p27tjX-h2","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1056"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1056"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1056\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1057,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1056\/revisions\/1057"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1056"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1056"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/winter-publishing.com\/welcome-to-winter\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1056"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}