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A figure walked towards the bridge. As he went, he kicked a stone. Its clattering echoed along the deserted street, disturbing the silence. The man enjoyed the noise. He had managed to chase the stone all the way from his home; it gave him belief in his own existence. He hoped he disturbed, annoyed and angered people. Then, with a kick too powerful, he sent his miniature companion scuttling into the gutter and down a stormwater drain. All go, he thought; all leave; all die.
He walked out onto the bridge and looked down into the swirling black water. The light from the town glimmered on the ripples, dancing and playing It seemed warm, soft and inviting. He felt like lying his head down on the soft darkness of the river and sleeping forever.
He became mesmerised by the water. Its gentle gurgling laughter called to him; its peaceful swaying enticed him. He leaned out over the small rail and was about to embrace the blackness when a truck came rumbling along the road.
"Not even any peace in death," the man growled after the truck. He turned away from the river and started walking back the way he had come.
Tomorrow. He would do it tomorrow. Something good could happen tomorrow.
"It was a beautiful meal. Thank you."
"That's all right. You should come over more often. Isn't that right Alan? Alan?" The woman turned to her husband, who was trying to find their visitor's coat.
"What? Oh, yes, Rob. We've been working together for years now and yet I hardly ever see you other than at work. Next time, we'll have to make a time that's more convenient for your wife. Shame she couldn't make it tonight," Alan said as he handed Rob his coat.
"Yes. Well, I'll see you tomorrow," Rob said to his hosts. "Tomorrow," he echoed to himself.
Rob felt like telling Alan and his wife that he couldn't stand their company and preferred to see them as little as possible. He also wanted to tell them that his wife was not busy at a night class but had simply stayed home to avoid a terribly boring evening. Instead he said goodnight and left.
He got into his car and sat for a while looking at the lights from the houses. They all held people in their private lives. Was anybody happy for long? Could anyone say that they had lived a happy life with no doubt in their minds of things they would rather forget and would never wish to live through again. Could they honestly say that there was nothing they would like to change?
What was he going to do? He couldn't go home until he had thought of something. He started his car and drove down the street. He didn't care where he went.
It had been a mistake. Eileen had told him not to do it and now they were going to lose everything. She would be angry and hurt when she found out he had gone ahead and invested the money without telling her, that they were going to lose their house.
He could hear her now. A marriage is built on trust and communication. He had betrayed her. But she would have been so happy when he had handed her the money, been able to pay off the house, given the kids the best education. It was too late now.
The man took a short cut through the back of a block of shops and crossed the railway lines. He glanced up at his one-room flat on the second story of an old renovated post office. The building was dark and filthy. It leaned over the railway line, a malevolent figure against the surrounding wasteland.
He hated the place, but it was all he could afford. At one time he had dreams of a house and family, two cars in the garage and nappies on the line. But now he had no job, no money. no hope.
People told him he had his whole life ahead of him. He was only twenty five, he should get out and do something with his life. What did they know!
He entered the building and climbed the stairs to his room. The boards beneath his feet creaked and threatened to give way under him. Opening the door, he reached for the light switch and found that the light had blown.
"The last straw!" he muttered as he felt his way across the room to the only light source, a yellowish glow of a streetlight that he could see through the grime on the window. He fell into the armchair that alway sat under the window and looked gloomily out at the cold, dispassionate city.
The clouds had smothered the sky and were threatening rain again. Everything seemed as dark and foreboding as his thoughts; there was no love in the world, no joy, happiness or freedom. The whole city was a prison of glass and concrete, enslaving your soul until you come to the point that the only freedom you can see is death. He wondered if it was any different in other places. Was he the only person in the world who could see through the optimistic blindness that people surrounded themselves with?
Rob drove towards the river. He had once lived in this area, a lifetime ago. Now he was returning because he felt that his life was over. He stopped at the bridge and sat in his car and watched the black water of the river as it fought against the restraints of the riverbank.
"Too cold," he said to himself. "Takes too long."
He had decided that suicide was the answer. His wife would get the insurance and he would be free of the stress and worries of life.
It wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts. Once when he was young and felt that life was too cruel to suffer, he had thought of the freedom of death. But something had happened. He couldn't remember now what it was, but it wasn't long after that he had found a new reason to live. Then he had met his wife and had twenty years of happiness and security. Now all that was gone.
He started his car and drove down the road to where he once lived. It was an old building near the railway lines, where he had watched the trains on nights when he couldn't sleep. It held sad memories, but it also reminded him of times when life was harder than what he now faced.
But now he was older and had less of the fight for life than the young. He couldn't face another struggle. He was giving up.
He parked the car at the railway station and walked along the deserted line. He knew the twelve o'clock train would not be long. He decided to wait and see what the train would bring.
He reached the building where he once lived just as he could hear the train rattling in the still air. He looked up at the old post office. It hadn't changed; nothing had changed.
He could see the train now. It had turned the last bend and was passing under the road bridge. He glanced up at his old flat for a last look.
The man in the flat had been watching Rob as he walked along the tracks. He felt angry. He had everything the young man wanted. Dressed in a suit with a warm overcoat, he obviously had money and a comfortable life. Why couldn't he have a life like that?
Rob looked at the man sitting in his old flat and looked into his own eyes, twenty years younger.
The train thundered past him, obliterating his view of his past.
When the dust had settled and the train had disappeared into the city, the man in the flat sat confused by what he had seen. Was it a premonition? Could that have been his future?
"Tomorrow," he whispered to himself.
"Tomorrow," Rob said as he climbed into his car. "Something good could happen tomorrow."