The Fall of A Titan

He stood there, hunched over the railing of Gapstow Bridge, dropping sticks into the water below. He watched them laying there, half submerged, as if they were not quite sure whether they should float or sink into the cold green pond. The stillness and silence was only disturbed by clouds of gnats, humming madly over the surface of the murky water. The boy seemed encased in his thoughts. The only thing moving about him was his hands and eyes. His hand would reach and fumble for another stick to drop into the pond, adding to the mass that lay limp in the water. His distant grey eyes were open wide, blankly staring ahead except for a periodic blink. They seemed to be glazed, concealing all thoughts and feeling. The boy's only companion was a small brown toad that sat on the peaty bank, absentmindedly flicking his tongue. Then suddenly the autumn wind grew cooler and ruffled the boy's black hair, bringing him back to his senses. He looked around for a few seconds, and then dropped the remaining stick into the pond. He zipped his coat up and slowly walked away, as if his purpose there had been defeated.

The letter stared up at his face and burned his eyes, like a harsh glare from a trusted friend. He knew it'd be here, waiting to tease him into frustration. His eyes drifted hesitantly towards the first line. He had no reason to read further.

He took a match out of the drawer and proceeded to ignite the paper. The flames consumed the letter with adamant pleasure. He opened the window to relieve the apartment of the pungent smell; but the door opened suddenly, and a weary small tottering figure emerged from the dark hallway. He ran to his room and shut the door. He fell onto a faded pink floral futon and closed his eyes, the moon shining through the windowpane, leaving a hazy strip of white on his back.

He awoke instantly, jumping to his feet with a start. The dark blue sky gave the appearance of early morning. Through his rain splattered window he saw the corporates heading to work, black umbrellas bobbing in the air. He stretched, grabbed his tattered sneakers, and pulled them onto his feet. He opened the door and ran down the dark hallway, praying that he wouldn't hear his mother's suspicious call.

He sprinted down the apartment building steps and onto the wet street. He scuffed his shoes against the wet concrete walk and asked to the skyscrapers, face in the rain,

 "How do I look from up there?"

but there was no response. He glanced down at the curb and saw the soggy remains of a frog, crushed by some unsuspecting car.

"Found a way out?" he asked the skeleton.

The fractured eye sockets stared silently back at him, and he felt compelled to keep on walking.

Walking to get away from the mess he'd gotten into

He watched cars fly past.

Two hours passed. It was now around seven am. He glanced around for a moment, and then turned and started home. The rain was pouring now. He quickened his pace. Just as he neared his apartment, he once again noticed the smashed frog in the street. He stopped and stood staring at it intently in the heavy rain for a long time. Suddenly, he turned and ran across the street. Feet pounding on the pavement. Rain splashing at his clothes.

N.Y. Chronicle, Wednesday, 11.12 - Young boy, unidentified, announced dead yesterday morning. Police reports have not been made public, but sources say the boy ran into oncoming traffic on the interstate. He had no identifiable items, and contact has yet to be made with his mother.