Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for mature content.
.oOo.oOo.oOo.
the convex or concave upper surface of a column of liquid, the curvature of which is caused by surface tension
~ Dictionary.com
The rain that fell wasn’t just a light drizzle – it was a downpour. Large, heavy raindrops slammed down into the Earth like the balled up fists of a child pounding on the floor in the throes of a tantrum. That’s where most people get it wrong. Contrary to popular belief, rain isn’t this graceful force from Mother Nature; it’s a child. A child that was crying all over my favorite hoodie.
My hands were laid out neatly in front of me, fingers splayed against the slick gray railing. They nearly shone in the darkness, each pale tendril its own shining, strikingly white ray of light. I watched as they drifted towards each other again before forming them into small, balled up fists. The balls circled around, revealing my slender, pale wrists. Though my hands were smooth and unmarked, my wrists were the epitome of macabre. Scars of varying lengths and depths ran across both wrists. Some were faded into my flesh as barely visible lines, years of repair having hidden them, while others were red and ugly – fresh. The rain felt good pummeling into my warm skin, cooling the angry heat radiating from each fresh cut.
I let my hands return to their original position on the guardrail as my gaze took in the sight before me: It was ugly – like the scars crossing my wrists and zigzagging across my thighs. The view was dull and gray in the sunless rain, wet and muddy. The river below me thrashed about angrily in the storm, tossing its water over the muddy brown banks running alongside it. I’d always liked the river – the way it seemed to understand me. Whatever anger was boiling inside me usually seemed to fuel the river’s hatred as well.
“Might fine day for a leisurely walk, don’t you think?
My heart stopped, my eyes widened, and my hands instantly reached to pull my sleeves down over my scars. I quickly spun around, my fingers clutching tightly against the railing behind me, bracing myself against the onslaught of questions about to follow.
It was an elderly man. His hair was white as moonlight as it whipped around his head in the wind of the storm. His face sagged under the weight of years. Though the rest of him seemed to be fading and drawing in on itself, his eyes sparkled – a brilliant hazel, like two polished ambers staring at her from behind the glass of his back-rimmed glasses. He wore a crooked grin across his lips, framed by a neatly-kept white beard. He sat in a wheelchair, and, wearing nothing but a black turtleneck and khakis, didn’t seem at all bothered by the rain slamming into his aged skin. I followed his eyes as they moved briefly to my arms behind my back. Then our gazes met.
“Wh-what are you doing up here?” I stammered in a sharp tone. It had been a long time since I’d last cared about “respecting my elders.”
“Enjoying a stroll. I do believe this bridge is public property. I apologize sincerely if I happen to be mistaken.”
The tone in his voice sent a wave of anger through me. Cocky, arrogant, condescending. Every word grated on my nerves, and I clenched my fists tightly together, my fingernails digging into my palms. It actually felt good – that small, brief pain. With a deep breath, I turned my back on him to stare out across the river again.
Neither of us spoke and the silence dragged on.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“This bridge…” He trailed off in a dreamy breath. The silence again floated between us until I finally turned to look at him. He smiled at me and continued.
“For the past ten years I’ve traveled up to this bridge at the same time every day. I come up here and just stare into the river. Though I can’t walk anymore on these shabby old things,” he playfully patted his thigh before continuing, “I can stand with a bit of help. This bridge helps me. I’ll stand up, holding myself up with the bridge, and stare out at the river below me.”
“Why?” the word that croaked out of my throat surprised even me. I hadn’t intended to speak, nor did I actually care about why, yet there the word was, hanging between us. I looked down at my feet, but I could feel his gaze boring into my head.
Finally, he chuckled. “No offense, my dear, but I doubt you’ll really be able to understand. I know you’ve heard it enough, but you’re young. This sort of thing may not apply to you just yet.”
My head immediately shot up as I glared at him. He was right, I had heard it enough. “Try me,” I snapped.
He stared across the bridge at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. After just a few more minutes of silence, he broke into a full-on grin.
“I come up here every day and decide whether to kill myself.” That was it. He didn’t say anything else, nor did he look away. He simple let the sentence hang between us.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to. I couldn’t even form any words, had I wanted to. There was no way I could blurt out that I was up here about to kill myself on the same bridge he contemplated it. I couldn’t explain all the cuts along my wrists to him – I couldn’t even explain it to my own family. They didn’t believe in depression. To my father, depression was defined as a lack of motivation or ambition, or simply a result of laziness.
“Why?” That was all I could think to say. Nothing to comfort him – nothing to share our kindred troubles aloud. Just that one question; a question I’d spent two years trying to answer.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he dropped his head to stare down at the arm of his wheelchair. After a few moments, he raised a shaky hand, holding it flat over a part of his chair arm.
“Meniscus…” he mumbled, his gaze steady on one spot of his chair.
“What?” I responded, nearly certain the poor guy was losing his mind finally.
“Meniscus.” he repeated the infernal word, as though saying it again would get me to understand.
“I don’t know what that is.”
He smiled. “Didn’t your science teacher teach you anything?”
“And you think you’re more qualified than my science teacher?”
“Spent twenty-three years of my life teaching science to kids your age. So yes.”
“Point proven. So, what is this ‘meniscus’ you speak of?”
“Come here, dear.” he smiled encouragingly at me until I finally detached myself from the bridge railing and knelt by his chair, attempting to follow his gaze.
“Meniscus is ‘the curved upper surface of a column of liquid,’ according to our friend, Mr. Webster. This happens when surface tension causes a container to hold its liquid just above its surface without spilling over. My wife liked to instead define the word as ‘the point where one can no longer hold back their emotions and thoughts and that one trigger sends them spilling over.’”
Finally, I found what he was looking at. A small screw was missing from the arm of his chair, and in the hole it left was meniscus, so to speak. Rain drops had filled the hole, and where he blocked more incoming drops, a small curved surface of water hung above the hole.
“Your wife seems like a smart woman.” I remarked quietly, watching the shaking bubble of water.
“My wife is dead.” he replied, even more quietly. Neither of us looked at each other.
“What happened?”
“She had depression… Post-partum. I never believed her… I just didn’t believe in depression when she was always so happy around me. Finally, she hung herself…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “It took her hanging herself to get me to believe. Now I suffer from the same malady that killed her. Her death was ten years ago. Ever since, I’ve wanted to off myself.”
I didn’t respond. How was I supposed to? ‘I’m sorry for your loss?’ No. I’ve heard that enough times myself to know how robotic it sounds. ‘It wasn’t your fault?’ No. It was. He should have helped her. I stayed quiet.
“She was right, you know. About meniscus. Every day, the emotions and guilt fill me until I feel like that little bubble just about to spill. Then I come up here. Every day I stand above the river, staring down into it, waiting for the drop.” He removed his hand, letting rain hit the bubble and we both watched as the water pooled around the hole. “It never comes.”
“Why not?” I could barely do anything but offer quiet remarks in an attempt to evoke more insight from him. I wanted to know his story. I clung desperately to each word he said, still staring at the hole in his wheelchair. He smiled at me, I could feel it, despite refusing to look at him.
“I realize how stupid suicide really is. Now, I’m not trying to say my wife was stupid. She was a brilliant creature – artistic and intelligent. She was selfish, though. When her life got too hard, she chose to ruin the life of me and our family just for her temporary release. I don’t want to be selfish and leave behind the people that care about me. There aren’t many, but they need me.”
“I came up here today to kill myself.” I heard the words, but I couldn’t tell where they were coming from. Finally, things clicked and I realized I’d spoken them out loud. Kill myself… Those words that had haunted me so long finally came out of my mouth. They were free, yet I didn’t really feel anymore free than before.
I waited, expecting him to feed me a line about how I shouldn’t do it. I was waiting for a generic phrase you may find stitched onto a pillow about how there’s so much of life left to live, but nothing came. He simply returned to his chair, studying his meniscus.
The silence floated heavily between us. I didn’t know what to say, nor did I know what to do. So I straightened, leaving his side to return to the edge of the bridge where I could watch the angry water rush by. The rain was stopping, falling in less and less quantities with each silent minute. Finally, it ended, leaving its gray clouds still blotting out the sky. Though the storm was dying, the river still screamed below me.
His meniscus done as the rain departed, the old man spoke.
“Can you help me stand on the bridge, dear?”
I didn’t turn around.
“I thought you said suicide was stupid and selfish?”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “I did, for those with so much life left to live. I’m so far passed my prime, my dear. I’ve lived my life – nothing really waits for me here. You have so much left to do with yourself, though. My wife still had so many beautiful years left to live. Will you help me, please?”
My steps were slow as I turned around to look at him, dreading the desperate face I’d have to look back at. He looked so beaten and broken, I couldn’t say no. So, I nodded quietly, though I wasn’t really sure about this.
I moved to his side, lending him my shoulders and slowly helping him rise on his feet. Despite his mass compared to mine, he really didn’t feel like that heavy of a burden on my shoulders. Together, step by step, we left his chair and made it to the small railing of the bridge. He smiled down at me and slowly pulled one leg over the railing onto the small cement lip, the other following. He let go of me, supporting himself with the railing behind him, staring down into the river. The sun broke through the clouds now, just a small ray illuminating his sunken face. His eyes danced and sparkled under the light, and for a moment he truly looked happy. His gaze didn’t leave the settling waters of the river as they calmed below him. I turned my back. I didn’t want to see it.
“Not today.” His voice was quiet, but audible. The musing tone of his voice easily cut through the eerie still of the world around us, and I turned to look at him as he clambered clumsily off the railing. With my help, he returned to the seat of his wheelchair. He smiled at me.
“Sometimes you just know when the time is right. Or when it isn’t.” With that, he spun his chair around and called over his shoulder, “Good luck, my dear!”
I stood in the ray of sunlight and watched him leave. I felt like something should have struck me out of what he said, yet I felt nothing. Nothing but the same dull ache that had followed me the past two years of my life. I moved back to my spot at the railing, where he’d climbed up. The water, now calm, invited me into its wet embrace. Slowly, one leg at a time, just like he’d done, I climbed over the small railing, standing on the precipice of life and death; of hope and despair; of pain and release.
I chose release.
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125,005 Literary Works • 672,809 Reviews
The whole meniscus metaphor was quite lovely. It related the situation in a sparse, but elegant way, and was a pleasure to read about. The old man also has a sort of kindliness to him, unique -- I think -- to old men, which was captured well in this piece.
However, a couple of problems kept me from enjoying this piece to its fullest.
For one, there's a bit too much reliance on fancy language and obtuse metaphor. No, I would disagree, rain is not like a child. To be convinced, I'd like to hear the narrator's reasoning behind calling it a child. No, I disagree, the river doesn't seethe with hatred. Hatred is a human emotion that doesn't necessarily have any action behind it. You can sit and quietly hate somebody. A river can be furious, it can be calm, it can be playful, because all these things conjure up an associated action that's easy to attach to a river. Hate? Waters that despise? How would that even look? But -- I won't ask for these things to be expanded, merely changed. There are already a bit too many words here. It took us three paragraphs for any action to start happening, when my interest had already started to wane.
For two, the ending. Oh lord, the ending. So I assume she killed herself? Release and all that, yes? This means that any moral this piece was trying to portray -- suicide as ultimately a selfish action, which I agree with -- flew right out the window. This narrator has heard the kindly old man describe his views on suicide, seemed to understand what he was saying, took some time to contemplate it; then went ahead and killed herself. Screw family, screw friends, screw the old man, screw his wife, screw learning any meaningful lessons, I want out. Bam, done. The story was for nothing.
I will quote David Foster Wallace on depression:
This seemed to be what the story was going for. It would, indeed, be a poignant and powerful moral. No matter how stupid suicide may seem to someone from aside, even to one who's suicidal himself but isn't quite at the level of committing to it yet, there are still enough reasons for the suicidal person to go through with the act. Very sad. Unfortunately, the "flames" David Foster Wallace is talking about are completely absent from this piece. Depression is the only reason given for the cuts and the suicide, before I build some sort of a relationship with this character. So she dies, and I become frustrated at the stupidity and impulsiveness of youth. I don't have any reason to feel sadness for her passing.
If you have time, examine this piece, quite short, also featuring suicide. This piece kicked me in my business area with a steel-toed boot, because it perfectly framed the circumstances for the act. Now, there is one important difference between But Love Hangs So Beautifully and Meniscus: in the former, there is a solid reason for suicide; in the latter, the reason is depression, which may be a lot more difficult to describe in such a way as to get it across to others. In your place, I would think: is there any way I can effectively portray depression to the reader? If so, work it into the piece somehow. If not, consider writing about another subject. Exotic diction and purple prose will carry you far, but they will not open the gate to a reader's heart.
Best of luck.
Your bridge,
cC
Hello! Eva(lynne) here for a review! Gosh, I haven't done on eof these in simply AAAAAGGGGGGEEEEEESSSSSSS, and do excuse my informality there, I promise I shall not do such a thing again. Pinky promise.
Okay, time to get serious, though I am not entirely certain what that is. (Kidding!!! Honestly!!!) Alright, I promise I am being serious now, okay? Okay. Now, let's get on with the review!
'Contrary to popular belief, rain isn’t this graceful force from Mother Nature; it’s a child.' I THINK (think being the operative word here) that semi-colons are supposed to be used to join two sentences which COULD be separate, stand - alone sentences , which means that there should NOT be a semi - colon there. I think. I feel it may be more grammatically correct if the semi - colon is changed to a colon or a hyphen. Or is it a dash? I think it's a dash. I must investigate this. Nah, it's a dash. Yes, so like I said, I think it's should be changed to a colon or to a dash, preferably a dash, as I think that is the most grammatically correct.
In the second paragraph, I feel that you were considerably repetitive when you were saying how pale the main character/narrator is, and although it can be effective if used correctly, I don't really think it works here.
' I’d always liked the river – the way it seemed to understand me.' This sentence . . . Urgh, I don't know exactly how to phrase this, but I don't think it is quite, well, RIGHT. The dahs I do not think should be there, if you keep the wording, and instead replace it with the word 'and'. Another alternative to this is writing, ' I had always liked the river - it seemed to understand me, in a way.' or at least something close to that.
No doubt this was just the result of typing quickly and a very light proof - read, but you have forgotten the ' y ' in 'mighty ' and the speech mark after 'think?'.
'He sat in a wheelchair, and, wearing nothing but a black turtleneck and khakis, didn’t seem at all bothered by the rain slamming into his aged skin.' I think there should be an 'and' between 'khakis,' and 'didn't' so it will read instead as 'He sat in a wheelchair, and, wearing nothing but a black turtleneck and khakis, and didn’t seem at all bothered by the rain slamming into his aged skin.'
'I stammered in a sharp tone. It had been a long time since I’d last cared about “respecting my elders.” ' I don't think the full stop/period should be within your speech marks, and it should be outside of them, which means it will read as ' "respecting my elders".' . Also, they should be quotation marks 'respecting my elders.' rather than speech marks "respecting my elders." All in all, instead of reading as 'I stammered in a sharp tone. It had been a long time since I’d last cared about “respecting my elders.” ' it should read as 'I stammered in a sharp tone. It had been a long time since I’d last cared about 'respecting my elders'.'
Also, there was one grammatical error which was clear throughout, which was in your dialogue. These are the rules of punctuation in dialogue:
Dialogue usually uses dialogue tags such as “she said,” “he screamed,” “they murmured,” etc. Dialogue tags are a subject and a verb that indicate who is speaking and the method of the speech (spoken/yelled/whispered). In most cases (unless a dialogue tag that indicates thought is used), material inside the quotation marks is considered spoken material.
I think the best way to explain it is to start with some examples of the different ways dialogue tags can be used.
Here is how to punctuate a sentence that starts with the dialogue tag:
Mary said, “Call me tomorrow.”
Notes:
• Comma before the opening quotation mark.
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the opening quotation mark.
• A period to end the quoted sentence.
• Closing quotation mark.
What happens when the dialogue tag is placed at the end of the sentence?
“Call me tomorrow,” Mary said.
Notes:
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the opening quotation mark.
• A comma to end the quoted sentence before the closing quotation mark that precedes the dialogue tag.
• Dialogue tag at the end with a period to end the sentence.
Now see what happens when the dialogue tag is placed in the middle:
“Call me,” Mary said, “tomorrow.”
Notes:
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the opening quotation mark.
• A comma to end the quoted sentence before the closing quotation mark that precedes the dialogue tag.
• Comma before the second opening quotation mark.
• Lower case letter to indicate the second piece of the quotation is still a part of the sentence that began in the first piece of the quotation.
• A period to end the quoted sentence.
• Closing quotation mark.
Now see what happens when the dialogue tag separates two sentences of quoted speech:
“Call me tomorrow,” Mary said. “Have a nice evening.”
Notes:
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the first opening quotation mark.
• A comma to end the quoted sentence before the closing quotation mark that precedes the dialogue tag.
• A period at the end of the sentence (and after the dialogue tag) to indicate that the sentence with the first piece of quoted material has ended.
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the second opening quotation mark.
• The second piece of quoted material appearing on the same line as the first to indicate that the same person/speaker said both pieces of quoted material, even though the second piece of quoted material does not have a dialogue tag.
• A period to end the quoted sentence.
• Closing quotation mark.
This is what happens if there is more than one sentence inside the quotations:
“Call me tomorrow. Have a nice evening,” Mary said.
Notes:
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of a sentence inside the opening quotation mark.
• A period to end the first quoted sentence.
• Capital letter to indicate the beginning of the second sentence inside the quotation marks.
• A comma to end the second quoted sentence before the closing quotation mark and before the dialogue tag.
• A period at the end of the sentence (and after the dialogue tag) to indicate that the sentence that contains both sentences of quoted material has ended.
And…all of the above remains true even if you reverse the order of the dialogue tag from Mary said to said Mary.
Said Mary, “Call me tomorrow.”
“Call me tomorrow,” said Mary.
“Call me,” said Mary, “tomorrow.”
“Call me tomorrow,” said Mary. “Have a nice evening.”
“Call me tomorrow. Have a nice evening,” said Mary.
So, in total, if there is a tag with dialogue, it is a comma at the end of the dialogue if the tag is after, full stop if it is not. Tags start with a lower-case letters unless it is a name, and only end with a full stop if the tag is not in the middle of a sentence.
When you use an action with dialogue, it is the EXACT OPPOSITE.
Did that make sense? Probably not. I don't make sense a lot. XD
Grammar and wording aside, I do like this, and think it carries a deep meaning with it. I shall now go to read more of your wonderful writing!
Love,
Eva(lynne)
---Evalynne---
I really love this, like, a lot. It was beautifully written, the purple prose perfect for the style. I love the description of the old man, and the way you can feel her irritation, anger, and then intrest and understanding. The way they relate is wonderful, and the way they chose differently is interesting. It seems realistic, surprisingly, that even after that she'd feel like the man was wrong, a coward, or just suffering a different pain. I don't know how to describe how she feels though I understand her descision to jump.
The mans story and how he didn't understand his wife till she reached the breaking point is sweet. And how he blames himself, but feels she was selfish, is realistic.
Overall, it's a wonderful glance into a life of someone who decides to killl herself. All too often short stories feel to short, or like novels that where the writer was to lazy to turn it into a novel, but this one feels perfect for the length, and I honestly don't think it needs to be extended.
On that note, you had some grammar and punctuation mishaps, so here-
“Might fine day for a leisurely walk, don’t you think?
Turn 'Might' Into 'Mighty' and add a quotation mark after 'think?'
His face sagged under the weight of years. Though the rest of him seemed to be fading
Change it to 'years, though' instead of 'years. Though'
like two polished ambers staring at her from behind the glass of his back-rimmed glasses.
You slipped out of third person here, it should be 'I' not 'her'
“respecting my elders.”
Change it to singular quotations, 'respecting my elders'. and also move the period like I did.
whether to kill myself.” That
I'd suggest making it 'whether or not to kill myself'
So, what is this ‘meniscus’ you speak of?”
This seems to advanced for her speaking style, chang it to "So, what is 'meniscus' then?" Or, "Are you gonna tell me what 'meniscus' is or not?"
“Come here, dear.” he smiled encouragingly
Capitalize the 'h' in 'he'
“Sometimes you just know when the time is right. Or when it isn’t.”
Change this to 'Sometimes you know when the time is right, or when it isn't'
called over his shoulder, “Good luck, my dear!”
Either change the 'G' to 'g' or add a perios instead of a comma after shoulder.
With those nitpicks out of the way, I'd like to thank you for the experience. It was interesting, new, and unike. I feel like I got a new understanding of suicide from this, and it was worth the somewhat long read.
I hope to read more of your work in the future!
~Authorian
This is a review, I just messed up the one below so I deleted it and added this instead. Sorry for the confusion!
Marked as a review for you.
Thanks!