Catch Me

The moon was a silver line in the sky, just waiting for the night where it could disappear. The stars were scattered all across the emptiness of the universe, thousands and millions of them dancing in the night, and billions and trillions more stolen by the city lights. Annabelle could hear the bustling streets of LA alive with parties and glamor echoing distances behind her. She stood on a ledge of an old abandoned bridge, worn away and dangerously unstable—just about ready to give up completely under her feet and fall into the rushing rivers below her.

Nothing could describe Annabelle more than this bridge—tired and long since forgotten, abused when remembered and tossed away when unneeded. Having a love for the theater, she found it a quite fitting place for her death.

She had planned this night and ran it over so many times in her head that at this point, the rush and exhilaration of this moment seemed completely worn away. Instead, it was replaced by urgency—afraid of the moment that doubts begin to surface and feelings begin to change, for Annabelle needed this freedom—this escape—more than anything in the world. She needed to jump.

Closing her eyes, she felt the soft autumn breeze caress her cheek and ruffle her hair. Her heart pounding in her chest, she took just an inch closer towards the surface. ‘No regrets’ became her mantra, replaying over and over in her head like an irresistibly hypnotizing tune.

“Hi.”

Annabelle’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a voice—cracked and husky as if it hadn’t been used for a while. She looked to the side, and on the ledge next to her stood a teenage boy, shaggy chocolate brown hair tousled and disoriented, fancy dress clothes dirtied and placed flawlessly in a perfect catastrophic mess. “My name’s Keith.” He said, glancing at Annabelle with an expectant look as if waiting for her to reply. She tightened her lips and stayed silent, impatient with this boy. Seeing her glance at his attire, he grinned and nodded. “Dad’s wedding.”

“Why’re you here?” she more of demanded to know rather than asking.

“Well, why stay somewhere you’re not wanted?” The cheeriness in his voice never disappeared, though a bitterness that Annabelle understood very well lay hidden beneath his words. He gave her a goofy grin. “And besides—the bridge was calling.” Annabelle blinked, looking at him for a minute or two, pursing her lips with crossed arms, contemplating between assuming he was a delusional loon, or if he was joking. “Well, goodnight then, miss.” He gave her a soft pat on the shoulder—the touch of him setting electric shocks up and down Annabelle’s arm—and hopped off the bridge’s ledge.

Stopping midstep on his venture back to what Annabelle assumed to be home, he flashed her another grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you, by the way." The sincerity in his voice had taken Annabelle aback. "Really. It really was."

Annabelle turned around, watching him stroll down the rocky path back to the city. “My name’s Annabelle.” She called out softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

The boy, without turning around, yelled over his shoulder, “Yeah, I know!”

She paused for a moment, her voice wavering and hesitating. "See you around!" she said loudly, perhaps in hopes of hearing a reply.

Annabelle furrowed her eyebrows, bewildered by the strange boy, and even questioning if he was really there or not. As he disappeared from view, with much regret, she hopped off the ledge as well, wondering why in the world she did not jump.


In the distance was the boy, at the ledge of an end of his own, whispering his antiphon that would never be heard. "Maybe not, miss."

And then, he was gone--consumed by the waves he had saved her from.