GIVING UP, GIVING IN AND GIVING

A person who has reached the end of the road and is prepared to end a pointless existence, but is literally pulled away from it and given a second chance, and this time the person finds meaning.

I looked down from the ledge and saw the traffic racing by like metal impersonal containers, obeying some hidden code, which only they knew. I felt totally disconnected with whatever was happening on the overpass. I was about to be lifted into my own self-contained freedom.

Both of my arms were outstretched, holding on to the railing, as though I was Christ on the cross. I was bleeding from many wounds, and the blood was pouring down over my clothes, making them crimson, as if that was the colour I had chosen when I bought them in the first place. The only thing is that I didn’t buy any of them. They were second-hand. I had stolen them from friends, who turned out not to be anything of the sort.

As soon as the truth came out, they abandoned me to my fate. They knew I had no family. I had long since been thrown out of the house where my parents lived with their children. It was thought that at the age of sixteen I could fend for myself. I was glad to be rid of the violent atmosphere, where the switch was a common method of discipline along with the deprivation of food and sleep. If I cared enough about my siblings, I would have reported my parents to the authorities, but I had become zombie-like in my reactions and moved around on automatic pilot, trying to ward off the blows and at the same time survive.

When I eventually ran out of the house with just the clothes on my back, I sought out those who I considered to be friends I could trust. I moved away from the false security of suburbia and entered the uncertain world of downtown with all its temptations. At first I had to learn the hard way. Often I ended up in a squat, not knowing what time of day or night it was. I had tried to drown myself with the elixir of mixing drugs and drink. Highs of such ecstasy and lows of hellish nightmares succeeded each other on a regular basis.

I learned to steal - on my own initiative and then by joining gangs, which used the kind of violence to which I was accustomed, but this time I was not on the receiving end of it, but in control and enjoying the thrill. If I ever ran into friends I used to know they and I were aware that a gulf now existed between us, which was unbridgeable. In fact, one of them even told me to my face that he no longer recognized me, and that that would be the last time he would be seeing me. He was right but not for the reason he probably meant.

It was not long before I became an addict to cocaine and also a liability to my new-found “friends”, who wanted to ditch me - perhaps even eliminate me for good. Their association with me had brought them bad luck on many occasions - for example, run-ins with the police. Somehow either because they ran faster than the officers or they had some alibi, flimsy though it might have appeared, they had got away it for the time being, but that situation would not last for long.

One day I had been turfed out of a squat and told never to return, if I valued my life. That evening I was walking down an alleyway, when I was set upon from behind. I never saw or heard them. A sack was pushed down my whole body and tied up at the top. Then they threw the sack to the ground, and proceeded to kick me. This went on for what seemed to be a lifetime. I went into the fetal position, to try and protect myself, but I could feel my bones cracking and the blood oozing from all areas of my body. I feared for my life. I thought that they would kill me and leave me here or dump me in the river.

Suddenly the constant barrage stopped, and the sack was untied. But when I finally emerged, I saw no-one through my bloodshot eyes. I could not stand. I collapsed on a pile of rags. I cried as I had never cried before. I fell asleep among the filth. It was a fitful slumber, punctuated by moments when I woke up screaming in agony, and then being submerged in hellish nightmares, which even surpassed my drug-induced fantasies.

Eventually I woke up to the dawn - a day I had not wanted to see! I had nowhere to go for help and no-one could or would want to help me. I made the only choice available to me, and that was why I now hung like Jesus on that crossbar above the roadway, ready to make my move. I was never so clear in my mind. I was about to step into a new existence, which would liberate me from the pain and heartache of every single event which had taken place in my life so far.

Suddenly, to the right I heard a commotion. There appeared to be flashing lights. And people, of whom I was barely aware, except for one voice, which shouted out: Jump, you jerk! On my left some more noise and a crowd. They seemed to be at both ends of the bridge I had only just got used to the fact that I had become the centre of attention, when I felt this arm quickly move round my waist, and start to pull me upwards and over the parapet. I suddenly screamed my outrage at being denied my right to freedom, but I had become so weak that I could not put up any resistance.

When I was eventually pulled over and encouraged to sit down on the ground, someone in a uniform and with a kind voice placed a blanket round me and gave me a hot sweet cup of tea. I saw the smile, and this time I cried as though my whole body would break. She was a police officer. Her name was Sandy. She seemed to be about my age, so we were able to connect in a way. Gradually, as we waited for the ambulance and during the ride to the hospital, I told her everything about myself. She was a good listener. At the time I thought she would make a good Samaritan, if she ever chose to do that kind of work. Well, after all the necessary physical checks, I was discharged from hospital and sent to St Edmund’s Retreat - which for me was a place where I found my true freedom by gaining my self-respect and the courage to face life with hope. I also began to discover that there were people who loved me unconditionally.

They expected nothing from me. They were always there to give me help to talk through the process of rehabilitation. I began to realize my potential as someone who could help others because of my own experience. Finally I was determined to build bridges with my own family. I was learning how to be patient, and so however long it took, I set my goal on re-connecting

with them and showing them forgiveness - even love.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Hard lesson to learn. But we must.
"Finally I was determined to build bridges with my own family. I was learning how to be patient, and so however long it took, I set my goal on re-connecting
with them and showing them forgiveness - even love. "
The above lines is needed wisdom for a good life. Lead with concern, kindness and love. Negative actions and words lead to no-where. I enjoyed the story. Made me think this morning. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote

[sirA]

Great story! You painted with words without getting too caught up on describing everything, and I'm glad you allowed the main character to love his family again.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Thank you so much for your review, sirA. Being new to writing, I have been really encouraged by all the feedback I have received.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Looking at all the reviews thus far, and re-reading the story, I can see a kind of detachment on the part of the protagonist, as though he is now somewhat removed from the event on that parapet, as though someone else is there - not he. This is the only way he can either cope with his situation or make sense of it.

[JayceeC]

Although this uses poetic conventions, it works as a great prose piece, too. Your narrative is colorful, with great imagery, and a suspenseful story. A solid write in either form. You give just enough details to move the storyline along at a steady pace, but not so many that the reader is not asked to use their own knowledge to envision the scenes.
As prose you might be able to add some colorful details, especially at the end. Your time references as transitions get a bit lost, but overall, this is powerful writing.

[JayceeC]

Ps, I noticed your replies are not linked. Click on the page with the green arrow below the review, and the review gets a notice of your reply.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Thank you very much for your review, JayceeC. Extremely helpful.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Emmajoy, thank you very much for your review. I think I deliberately made it slightly more objective like a report, and yet not losing the link to this young person's inner turmoil. Read my comment below to Relic. Thank you again. Really encouraged me.

[emmajoy]

'Their association with me had brought them bad luck on many occasions - for example .. .. '

Whether or not this is fact or fiction, this is an incredible story. The abject desperation of the main character's experiences near screams from the screen at times. What finally happens is a rare remedy, (Not saying more about the theme, people need to read your post.Many of them.)

As to your writing: it's more than fluid yet compact, descriptive yet not overly colourful, the hell of it all is described with constraint rather than melodrama. And that is more than fine.

However, this is a controlled sadness, more a report than a tale. Would like more of your thoughts to be mentioned, have less of the first person at times and more a steam of unleashed feeling.

That said, this writing truly moved me. I hope you have far more reviews, you should.

[Bill Grimke-Drayton]

Thank you, Relic, for your insightful words of encouragement. I wrote this piece after watching a talk on "Suicide" in the TED series of lectures. The man talking had in fact been that person on the parapet and was indeed helping out now with suicide prevention. So you could say that the story was based on truth.

[Relic]

Great writing here. This narrative, whether true or fictitious, details a compelling story of depression and hopelessness that is reversed through the courage and compassion of one police officer willing to step in and save a life. Your writing is polished and skillful. Good job on this.