Flash fiction: And he jumped!

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The road was deserted at night. It rained heavily. There was something eerie at the usually frequented bridge. The sound of the train siren could be heard at a looming distance. Something purred past him as he stood on the edge of the bridge. He turned around and saw a black cat disappearing in the fleeting second. Anxiety ran down his body. The puerile smell that flew from the river almost blocked his nostril.

It was now or never, he told himself. A strange sensation ran down his limb. The terrain was muddy. He rolled his denim and removed his slippers. He thrust his right feet on the old bridge in the city where drug addicts, prostitutes, and drug addicts find a refuge at night but there was no one there at this wee hour. The fading paints of advertising for evening classes were scribbled and posters of B-grade films at the sidey theater were worn out. He pressed his hand on the concrete cement in a decrepit state and with utmost effort stood on the bridge. He watched the still water flowing down the river.

It was time to jump. The arms were slowly raised and the legs taking position as if it was an army drill. He finally jumped. But, not inside the river but back to the deserted roads running for his life and sprinting his way to save himself. A loud gunshot and frantic cries were heard as he was ready to kill himself. It woke up the dogs who were in a deep slumber and they started barking ferociously. The wild animals were running after him and he jumped over an empty stall, turned around to see that they were closing on his inch. The dogs looked suddenly menacing and craving for the human blood and flesh. He was panting heavily in the dark.

There was an old wooden stair and he hopped down. He felt a creaking sound behind the back and was shit scared that it might break anytime. Finally, he found himself on the ground and walked slowly looking for a hideout. There were thick bushes, thorns and the wedge in the dark. His furtive eyes looked around. It was time to run again with his naked and bruised feet and blood dropping on the ground. Fear engulfed him. He felt weak as if he was going to pass out anytime soon. The dogs couldn’t be seen anywhere. As he started running again, few gun shots flared and missed his thin body by a whisker. He gasped and flipped his way inside the forest. He was clueless where his steps were taking him.

An unknown force pushed his body violently as if it was the hands of a ghost. The thick grasses knotted together and tied his foot and he was jolted down. His body rolled in the mud and slipped its way towards a deep trench. All he could hear was the sound of stormy water.

Post-script: I decided to write the flash fiction after reading Shailaja’s post on 10 Important Tips for Writing Flash Fiction. Read it here.

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