Peter stood, shielded by the rain. Exposed in the water. He thought of that evening, when he’d had his latest row with his girlfriend. He thought of the day before, when his co-worker swore at him. He thought of two weeks ago, when he crashed his car. He remembered his girlfriend’s words, his co-worker’s tone, the grinding screech as the car was struck side on. He remembered the last time he spoke to his parents. The last time he hung out with friends, the last time he went to the movies. He remembered getting rejected by his high-school crush. He remembered getting dumped by his high-school girlfriend. He remembered never expressing his feelings towards that co-worker he thought of more than the others. Just before they changed jobs. He remembered that humiliating prank his classmate pulled on him in high-school, when boys don’t know better. He remembered the few fights he’d been in, over trivial things that seemed so important at the time. He remembered the rain as he walked in sorrow, the downpour as he wandered in misery. He remembered the ice on the road, that caught him unawares at last years Christmas, as he walked to the shops to get something to drown the loneliness. To smother the depression. To wash away the tears. He remembered the time he tripped in front of his colleagues, the way they stared into his back afterwards in derision. He remembered his friends spreading who he had a crush on when he told them in confidence. He remembered giving lifts to his classmates, then being left behind during school. He remembered his parents, dying. He remembered the ceremony, the funeral, the cremation. He remembered scattering the ashes to the winds, the way it fell, the wind dying, at his feet, the waves eventually claiming them. He remembered the walk he took, through the rain, the wind, the dark. He remembered all that went wrong.

He’d forgotten the last gift his girlfriend had bought him. He’d forgotten the appreciation his co-worker expressed at his newest t-shirt. He’d forgotten the anguish the other driver showed, his vow to pay the insurance, to fix his car. He’d forgotten the picnics with his parents when he was young, the little inane greetings he and his friends shared, the games they’d played, experiences they’d shared. He’d forgotten about that weird girl in class who kinda maybe hinted that she liked him. He’d forgotten the secret make-out sessions with his neighbour when they were practically still kids. He’d forgotten the girl that stood up for him during the mocking, until he’d told her in no uncertain words not to, because it wasn’t manly. He’d forgotten the co-worker that gave him sly glances whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Just before she left. He’d forgotten the ricks he’d sometimes pull on his friends, that occasionally went to far. He’d forgotten the kids, that he’d helped sort out their problems when they argued on Halloween. He’d forgotten the sunshine that dried him out in summer when he felt sleepy in the shade. The warm winds that would occasionally blow in through the window, warming him when the boss liked the thermostat too low in summer. He’d forgotten helping his neighbour sweep her driveway during Christmas, the old lady could hardly do it herself, he’d forgotten her son that had arrived to do it, helping with his own driveway. He’d forgotten the hand that helped him up after falling awkwardly in front of associates. He’d forgotten telling jokes that got out of hand with his school friends, talking about secrets a little too loud, joking about being found out. He’d forgotten his childhood. Growing up with the parents he had, willing to help, to nurture, to teach, educate and train. He’d forgotten the touch of their hands on his shoulder, encouraging him, the sound of their voice in his ear, cheering him on, the smell of their perfume and cologne, whenever he was drawn into an embrace. The sight of their waving arms as they encouraged him from the side-lines. He’d forgotten the beggar he’d passed on the way here. Just as wet as himself, just as alone in the dark streets. Covered only with thin clothes and a blanket, huddled into a recess just inside an alleyway. He’d forgotten the way the water flowed at high tide.

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He looked down into the pits of darkness, the depths of hell. He looked up at the sky. He jumped.