Man at the Park

A few descriptive minutes before a man attempts his own suicide.

A man dressed neatly in a white buttoned shirt, silky blazer and carefully ironed black trousers settles on a bench in the park facing a colourful children’s jungle gym. The smell of the morning dew hangs in the air, fresh and radiant. It is merely five-thirty in the a.m. and the park seems like a ghost town but for the birds chirping in the lush tree on the man’s left. Everything is calm, quiet and peaceful.

There is a storm building up in the distance; dark, ferocious clouds can merely be seen in the little light which five-thirty a.m. brings with it. Flashes of lightning shine in the man’s silky blazer and copy themselves in the duck pond on the right. Mild, rumbling sounds follow a few seconds after.

The wind picks up and the man’s blazer starts dancing in the wind, he slowly removes it, calmly folds it up and places it next to him.

The wind -now flowing around his arms- feels both refreshing and chilling at the same time. Ripples of waves start to form in the duck pond as drops of water start falling in a light mizzle from the heavens. The mizzle of rain forms a cool mist in the air blurring the man’s view of the jungle gym and duck pond. The morning light slowly fades away overhead from the obscuring clouds rolling in; a storm is coming. The man becomes hidden in his own personal house of mist, drops of water falling from the tips of his thick black hair onto his trousers causing him to shiver in the cold morning air.

The mysterious man reaches into his shirt pocket pulling out an envelope neatly addressed: My last will and testament…

The envelope slowly turns grey as the mizzle turns into a drizzle and falls onto the smooth white top of the envelope smudging the man’s handwriting. He places the envelope upside-down onto his now damp blazer and reaches into his trouser pocket while he leans forward.  The man pulls out a polished, silver six-shooter and loads it with live ammunition as another flash of lightning is reflected in the pond - and this time in the gleaming silver gun as well. He spins the chamber and it flicks it back into place -now fully loaded- and c***s the hammer. The man slowly lifts the almost weightless weapon and presses it against his chin, pointing straight towards the looming clouds above. The man tightly shuts his eyes and braces for the quick pain to follow, but as quickly as his eyes were shut, they were open again.

A rustling plastic bag distracts the man.

The plastic bag slowly flies and swerves right in front of the man. From left to right and left again, from up to down to up again; the bag dances in front of the man’s eyes. He slowly loses grip of the pistol and it slams into the damp grass. With aggravating sighs the man holds his head in his hands and sobs out loud. His sobbing can be heard above the noise of the now fierce rain pouring down on the ground. The ripples in the duck pond turn into waves and the mist thickens, completely blocking out the view of the colourful jungle gym. The plastic bag continues to play its scene in front of the man who listens to its swirling all too carefully.

The plastic bag symbolises life, and at six in the a.m. - it gives the man a new found hope.

Author's Note

C&C's appreciated.