"People are so focused on what's already past and what's to come that they don't appreciate the present." 

It’s cold.

Thirteen degrees celsius, with a thirteen percent chance of slight drizzle. Clouds hang low in the sky, barely giving the moon any space to breathe. Not that it matters, becaus I feel the same way. Like the moon, I mean.

It’s suffocating and dark, a grey monotone of color that has slithered into my wounds before I got the chance to dab in some ointment.

But that’s okay because I accept my fate.

I know what’s coming for me, the ending isn’t a pretty one if that’s what you’re wondering.

The wind bites at my skin as I slowly climb my way up onto the railing, looking over the river that separates my country into two. The lights are scattered across the city like a million of stars dancing through a galaxy of possibilities that unfortunately aren’t given to me through choice.

It is not a good night. Too cold and too windy. Easy to fall off with one wrong move, one wrong step. If the coldness of the water doesn’t kill me, the impact of the fall will. I don’t know which one I prefer, to be honest. The alternatives don’t seem very appealing and I wish that I have enough courage to back out before it’s too late, to take a step back before I know what kind of mistake I’m going to be doing.

But I’m a coward, and cowards always back out of things.

They like the easy way out and today, this is the easy way out for me. Jumping, that is.

I want to stand up and spread my arms wide, but I don’t. Instead, I look down at the impending darkness and wonder what lies behind those murky waters. Are there monsters ready to chomp onto one of my limbs? Is there a black abyss to my body in only to spit it out on the other side?

God only knows.

But tonight I’ll know. Tonight,I”ll figure out the puzzle that is the unknown dark matter that is waiting for me.

I just won’t live long enough to tell the tale.

“What are you doing?”

The unfamiliar soprano almost makes me topple over to the other side. Flustered, my arms scramble for purchase before they catch onto one of the metal bars, ears ringing with alarm.

Slowly, as though I’m a deer caught by a car’s headlights, I look down and almost scream out loud at the girl leaning against the railing beside me.

Her arms are supporting her as she nestles her face onto them, gaze flitting dow to the omniscient darkness before her eyes locked onto mine.

Her brown orbs are dark and intense, intimidating.

They make me flinch.

“What are you doing?” she repeats slowly as though she’s talking to a kid, and her somehow condescending tone makes me snap.

She’s a stranger and doesn’t even know me. I let people trample all over my ego, I’ve been holding the bucket of insults full in my arms for a while and that small comment is enough to make it overflow.

“None of your business.” I say.

“Geez, no need to . I was just curious.” she shrugs, unseemingly bothered by the fact that I’ve just snapped at her, “So, what’s your plan? To jump?”

She hit the right spot.

For a moment, I hold my breath and hear the bustling traffic noise that sounds a little too loud and uncomfortable for my liking. I could lie, I could say that o, I’m just here to admire the view.

But I’m tired of lying. Tired of beating myself up for others and cleaning up after their mess.

“Yes.” I look at her straight in the eye “want to help?”

She sighs before raking a hand through her hair, a gesture that girls do whenever they’re slightly frustrated about something, “See, the thing is, I was told to save you.”

“What?” I frown.

“I’m from your past and your future,” she smiles but her teeth glint with a dangerous light, “I’m your subconscious.”

“Heck no,” I’m horrified. That is definitely not something --someone-- I would conjure up by myself, “if my subconscious was human, she’d definitely not resemble you.”

But it’s then that I focus on her features. Dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, pale skin that reflects the moon’s light, thin lips that stretch wide into a smile, she definitely isn’t my type. But I have to admit that she does have her charm despite the oddity of her face.

“Fine, don’t believe me. Being your type isn’t in my job description anyway.”

I just throw her a pointed look that shows I’m weirded out.

“Anyway, don’t jump.” She continues, “and I’m saying that not because I give a slight inkling of about you, but because I’ll lose my job if you do.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask her.  

“No.”

“Take any drugs?”

“No,” she scowls, and I can’t help but feel amused by the way her features shift her expression. She looks terrifying, “Even if I was, I wouldn’t care about a stranger standing on the edge of the railing.”

“You’re doing that now.”  

“That’s because you’re my responsibility,” the anger pulsates through her voice, “Brian Kang.”

How does she know my name?

She rolls her eyes, “Do you need more evidence?”

“Maybe.” Is she a psychopath? Maybe she just wants my money so that she can run away with it with her lover, have some kind of romantic road trip or something. Or maybe she’s just really desperate to--
“--make someone’s life better because she thinks she’s a saint.” her voice bursts through my thoughts, finishing up the sentence as though I’m saying them myself. One of her eyebrows quirk up when a smug smile makes its way onto her lips.

I stare at her, “How did--”

“--you do that?” she finishes. I glare before I say, “You don’t know--”

“--what I’ve been through and what I am. I’m not your toy nor your puppet, and you can’t just go around playing barbie doll and ken with me.” she finishes suavely as though I’ve implanted my thoughts into her brain, and that freaks me out just the slightest.

Crossing her arms and looking up at me with an expression mirroring content, she continues, “Do you want me to continue? Or is that proof enough?”

“Okay,” I try finding a comfortable position so that I can settle myself onto the railing, knuckles holding on tight to those metal bars when another gust of wind makes me shudder. But I try to ignore the icy coldness biting at every inch of exposed skin at my knuckle, and instead focus on the girl before me.

“Say you’re actually a figment of my imagination, my subconscious, whatever,” I can hear myself speaking and it’s almost as if I still don’t believe her. Up until two seconds ago, I didn’t. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to save you,” She replies instantly without missing a beat.

That causes something in my throat to clog up tight. Emotion.

I press my lips together, “You can’t.”

I thought she’d make a fuss, or scream, or shout at me until I see reason. Any other human being would grab me by the shoulders and shake me senseless until it would get ingrained in my head. But she’s not human and she’s definitely not real, therefore she can’t touch me.

But it’s nothing like that. She shifts a little, rocks from one foot to the other. And then asks the most surprising thing:

“Why?”
 

I blink, “Why do I want to die?”

She nods.

Because it’s an escape. Because I’m a coward and I want to get away from everything and everyone. Because in the end people just keep using me and using me like a post-it note they can just throw away. I’m useful but only for a short period of time, I’m an option when there are no options left.

And because in the end no one really cares.

In the end, I’m all alone.

I don’t say all that, but I’m pretty sure my thoughts speak louder than my words ever will. I see her expression soften into one of pure sympathy, and although I hate it when people look at me as if I’m just another poor dog on the street without any master, her eyes offer some kind of comfort and understanding, an understanding that I am an equal of everyone else and that she’s sorry to see me suffer for something that I’m not responsible of doing or saying.

In her eyes I see that she understands what it feels like to be knocked out just because you’re the weakest, kindest link in a chain.

“I’m sorry,” is what finally falls from .

I chuckle, but it’s dry, half-hearted. “Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry that the world was so harsh and unforgiving to you, that you now look at friends like they’re a potential threat and that you think of yourself as the last option that doesn’t seem to be worth anyone’s time.”

“I’m sorry too,” my gaze is glued on the blinking city lights and the permanent black ink that is the scenery beyond me, but inside my mind is roaring and my heart is drowning with choked up emotion as I think back to all those times I’ve been let down and ditched by people, every time I’ve been stabbed in the back without so much of an apology, every time I fell for people’s malicious intentions in hopes of salvaging the thought that people can still be the best versions of themselves.

But everyone has a limit, and I think I’ve reached mine sooner than I’ve expected.

“But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

My head turns slowly. I look down at her, at the bright hope in her eyes and the way her face lights up with an expression that resembles faith. Faith in…

Me?

“You don’t have to put such high expectations on people, because that’s exactly what kills you in the end.” she continues hurriedly as though she fears I might jump at any second now, “You don’t have to put so much faith in others, nor do you have to trust anyone but yourself. But that’s kind of a saddening existence, isn’t it? To be alive only to be alone. That’s not why we live.”

Her eyes slide away from mine before she gazes out the scenery, “I’m not telling you to live a lonely life. I’m just telling you that you should be conscious of who you trust and who you decide to trust with all your heart. But that too doesn’t work sometimes. Sometimes, the ones that we trust the most are the ones that wish the worst for us. You’re going to be stabbed in the back again and again after this. Continuing to live means that you’ll suffer the consequences of pain. Human beings are cruel and will do anything to get what they want. So I know how it feels, to be the only option when people run out of them.”

And suddenly, her brown orbs are staring right into mine, deep and dark and serious. It’s a stormy wave of emotion crashing to the shore and I almost flinch back on impulse. But there’s something in her eyes that reel me in, that make me want to look even when I know I’ll probably regret it.

“But if you jump, you admit that you’re nothing, that your life is worth nothing.”

The words fail me. I want to speak but seems like I can’t.

I open my mouth only to close it again.

She continues, “What about your parents? Did they raise you right to throw this life away? What about your family? Are you going to be the problem that breaks them apart? What about the friends that genuinely care? Do you want to see them fight and take the blame for this choice of yours that you’re not even sure is the right one? Because let me tell you, it’s not the right choice. Running away wasn’t not a choice to begin with.”

“I’m not running--”

“But you are. You’re running away from a healthy life while others are struggling to live. Are you really going to sacrifice this just because you’re not strong enough to put people in their place? Are you really going to make everyone’s life a living hell just to satisfy your own wants and needs?”

Her hands suddenly enclose my own. They’re warm and tangible and here. They’re a blessing from the cold, they feel real enough for me to grip onto them with a tighter grasp. She searches my face with a desperation I haven’t seen cross anyone’s eyes yet, and another wave of emotion hits me in the gut, so hard that I have to force the tears at the back of my eyes.

“You’re here. You’re real,” she insists as her grip tightens, “Who told you it was okay to stop fighting?”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood at the edge of my mouth.

Why is she fighting so hard to keep me alive?
 

“Look, let’s make a deal.” she says, “Try to live for one more day. One more, one day at a time. What do you say?”

I want to shake my head, “I can’t--”

“You can, Brian,” she says gently, “You can. You just don’t want to try.”

“I’ve tried enough!” My tone rises with frustration and anger, tears prickling the corner of my eyes, “I’ve tried again and again and again and yet it never feels like it’s enough!”

“Try,” she pleads, “try one more time. One more. Please.”

I don’t want to say yes because I don’t want to promise something I don’t believe in. But she grips my hand harder if that’s possible, and I’m obliged to look into her eyes. Brown jewels shining into my own, they’re urging me to try, giving me a strength that I’ve lost in this endless battle.

I don’t know who she is, or what she wants from me. I don’t even know if she’s real or if she’s just a passing stranger that decided to take my life into the responsibility of her own hands.

But she’s trying so hard, and something in her expression causes a surge of faith to leap in me.

It’s burning my chest but it’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it feels warm and cozy, just like I’ve settled on a futon next to a fireplace.

And so I say yes.

“One more time,” she repeats like a mantra, “Try one more time.”

I nod.

I’ve never seen her again, but I did try. More than once.

And started living as I should.