Light Post 69

Words are never enough. To describe it. Life. The ending of it. Last night on the bridge. Not night, daylight still, sunset or almost. The warm day disappearing into the windy fog of evening. A crowded crossing. The pedestrian path scattered with people, their eyes obscured by camera lenses. At the crest of the bridge, the boy swings himself up by the light post and lands catlike on the lip of the balustrade. He is young as boys are, black haired and carelessly clothed. He hovers, higher than anyone dares to be. So brave and stubborn. Then he leaps out, his arms and legs bent back as if diving into the slippery calm of a pool. The light flashes on the metal struts of his belt. He is glittering. Free. The cameras remain pointed toward the water and the islands which crowd the bay. The cars cross back and forth from one tip of land to another. Nothing stops, or shifts, or stutters. Nothing changes. The water is too far below to sound his arrival.