This is a piece I wrote for an English class last year. We had to write a story starting from a pivotal point in our character's life.
Arno, the protagonist in this story, reflects back on how water has played an unfortunate part in his life as he boarders on suicide.


1. Water


As I teetered over the edge of Kingston Bridge digging my nails into the lampost willing myself to let go, I couldn’t help but note how unlucky water had been for me. I could remember that wet knock on the door 13 years ago next month, how it seemed so innocent at the time, how wrong could I have been. My heart dropped as a stern looking man in the police uniform had to told me that my father had drowned, I felt like shooing him out of our house and waiting for my dad to come home, but something about the rain made it seem so wet, so real. I don’t think I ever saw my mother cry. I know she did, but knowing isn’t the same as seeing. It’s not like I expected her to , she never cried, she was respectable and emotion was weakness.          Her eyes were so blank an emotionless when I told her what I was going to do with my life. Just empty, nothing I told her about my dreams, I wanted to be an actor and there was nothing she could do about it! She didn’t scream she didn’t shout, she waited, then went upstairs grabbed my clothes and belongings and threw them into the rain outside. “your father left us 5 years ago, but he didn’t have a choice, and now neither do you!” She always wanted me to be like my father. I like to think that she cried, but now, I’ll never find out.         The bridge, the only thing between life and death, was probably quite high up but somehow I never felt so close to the water. It looked so cool and peaceful, something I could do with in the heat of the English summer. I knew that in reality the Thames is a pretty grim river, and probably not a great place to die but when you’re woken up by a 2-in-the-morning train rumbling on its tracks conveniently placed next to my bedroom, you don’t really feel like going much place else. I had to pass Octavia’s flat on the way here, that nearly killed me. Urging myself to knock on her door and just hug her. I don’t know how I fought the temptation. It’s not like she was mad at me or anything, but I don’t think she would appreciate a suicidal ex-boyfriend knocking on her door at 2:27 AM. Now that I come to think about it, she broke up with me in water. So beautiful lying in the bath her hair flared out like Ophelia, but without the flowers and stuff.  “Arno” she whispered, but I could here her whispering my name from miles away. “Yes!” “Do you love me?” What a strange question, I thought. “Of course, Darling Octavia, I love you more than life its self” “I’m sorry” She whispered and pulled her head under the soapy water I thought I saw a tear roll down her cheek, but like I said, she was underwater.  That was a great birthday. I wondered, if water had been so unlucky for me, would it be the best way to go? I had thought about it before but not in detail. Just let go, just do it, it won’t hurt.  My pocket vibrated, it was a text. From my mum. What?!    From: MUM To: ARNO  Message: Arno, I need to talk to you. Come down from that bridge.   I turned my head, I saw a car parked across the road. A tear rolled down my cheek as it started to rain.
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