The Blogger's Demise

When the blogoshpere had finally lost its appeal, the blogger knew it was time to leave.  He posted his intentions and signed off.  He washed the few dishes that sat in the sink.  He replaced the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom with his last Scot tissue roll from the 4 pack he bought at the corner market.  He made his bed and put on his favorite Carhart jacket.  Not the one that was 3/4 length nor the one that was waist length, but the one that seemed to hang just right in between.  Then he left his apartment leaving the door unlocked and open.

He knew he would have to wait at least a half hour for the bus to Ft. Washington Park.  He had done this on purpose.  He wanted the extra time to possibly reconsider the future he had just laid out for himself.  Standing there in the cold next to a dark haired domestic he was sure had no green card or knowledge of his native language, he turned and smiled at her. 

"I am going to kill myself", he said.

She looked at him and smiled back.  "Si senor".

He continued smiling and reached in his pocket for what could turn out to be one of his last smokes.  He lit his cigarette and took a long drag.  He took another. 

"You see, I am going to the GW bridge and jump off of it." 

The domestic smiled again and said, "Si Senor".  So this was how his last conversation was going to go.  Like most conversations the blogger had had these past few months, he talked and all he got in return was some version of "Si Senor".   He stood there in the Plexiglas shelter and silently finished his cigarette.  The domestic clutched her shopping bag and umbrella and stared straight ahead.

The bus to Ft. Washington Park pulled up.  The blogger decided that he was right to end it all.  Everyone around him was a domestic with no green card and would never understand his language.  He stepped onto the bus and used his pass for the last time.  He had to wait for the aisle full of departing passengers to clear before he could move to the back of the bus.  The last passenger off looked at the blogger in surprise as he passed his monthly bus pass to them with more than two weeks left on it.  He found a seat near the rear of the bus and sat down.

The 30 block ride passed without incident.  People got on.  People got off.  A half block from the park, the blogger pulled the cable.  The bus stopped and he exited with determination.  As it pulled from the curb he turned to watch it billow diesel fumes and continue its route deeper into the Bronx.  He pulled another cigarette out of his top pocket and searched for the lighter he always kept in his front right pants pocket.  Lighting the cigarette, he began to walk towards the corner of West 177th and Cabrini.   The pedestrian and bike entrance of the GW bridge started there.

Entering the pedestrian gate of the bridge, the blogger noticed that the snow from the previous night had not been cleared and a thousand feet had pounded the walk into an ice filled path that would make him earn his last steps on this planet.  He paused before entering.  He smiled again and realized that his life was going to be a struggle right up to the end.  He began to pick his way around the worse humps in the ice.  The slow progress caused by the ice gave him more time to dwell on just where he would decide to jump.  He had planned to leap from the exact center of the bridge.  All the ice on the walk now caused him to reevaluate that decision.  Anywhere over water would do he thought.  Did it really matter if it was the center of the bridge or just 100 yards onto it?  He decided it did matter.  He would continue to the center.

As he approached the middle of the bridge he noticed someone hanging on the rail looking south down the Hudson.  They were loitering exactly where he had planned to make his big exit.  This irritated him.  This he had not planned on.  He slowed his progress and worried about how to deal with this obstruction placed in his way.  Some 40 yards short of his goal he decided he was close enough to the center to call it good.  He stopped and faced the river.

He must have stood there lost in thought for a few minutes.  A voice broke his trance from less than five feet away.  "You know this is not the middle don't you?"

The blogger jerked as if he had been goosed.  He turned and saw a medium sized fellow standing only a few feet away with a camera in his hand.

"Who are you and what business do you have with me?"  The blogger was very irritated now.

"Oh don't worry fella, I'm not here to stop you.  I'm here to record your last moments on the planet.  It's the least I can do."

The blogger had not counted on an audience.  "You read my blog?"

"Yes EMO-Man, I did.  And I understand.  You gotta do what you gotta do.  But don't you think you owe it to all those who have followed you these past five years at least the pleasure of seeing you jump?  We have been hoping you would for more than a year.  Christ, you talked about it so much, we were getting tired of it.  Shit or get off the pot ferchrisakes."

"But no one ever said anything.  I haven't had a comment in months."

"Had you picked up Twitter or even included the Follower App on your blog you would have known there were at least 1200 people interested in how your life was panning out.  One sick bastard from Maryland even placed odds on when you would finally pull the plug.  By the way, I thought you were ready last week.  I lost $50 bucks."

The blogger turned and faced the Hudson again.  He shook his head and straightened his back.  His mind raced.  His heart pounded.  His temper flared.  He had an audience and didn't know it.  There were people interested in his trials and tribulations.  Only they were more interested in watching him die than offering possible life saving advice.  "Well screw them", he thought, I'll show them, the fuckin assholes."   The blogger squared his shoulders and turned to face the fellow with the camera.  "Get out of my way."  He brushed past Camera man and continued toward the center of the bridge.

The blogger did not stop at the center, he kept going.  Behind him Camera man shouted, "Hey EMO-Man where ya going?  You missed the center of the bridge."

EMO-Man stopped but did not turn around.  He turned his head and over his shoulder, "To New Jersey.  Fuck you voyeuristic leeches."  And he lifted his right hand and flipped Camera man the bird.

The next day the followers of the blog "Saving EMO", saw the image of the back of a  man wearing a Carhart jacket flipping the bird.  The title over it read,  "Saved Another One - Who's Next?"
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I just do not know where this shit comes from.  I decided that today I would try to write some fiction.  And what you just read is the result.  I honestly had no plan or outline, just a few troubling notions floating around.  The story unfolded as I wrote it.  Whether it is good or not, again, just the effort made it worth it.

Keep it 'tween the ditches and stay away from the bridges......................................