Calvin watched the remnants of his meager breakfast swirl and drift down the river. He wiped his mouth before doubling over again. This time he shivered as he tasted bile. Something had surprised him, something that he couldn’t explain. Calvin knew exactly what had happened on this dock. What he couldn’t figure out was what had brought him here in the first place.

Perhaps a part of him felt like he deserved this emotional punishment after running away in the dead of night. It felt like he was in a trance, as he had walked. Then, as the vomit flowed from his mouth, he had snapped back into his body, along with a wave of shame that threatened to drown him. Nevertheless, he felt better, despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

He shook his head, as if he were trying to shake something loose, before he made his way down the metal walkway to the boardwalk below. It felt wrong to sit at that bench, so he stood behind it. He could picture her sitting there so clearly. Part of him wished more than anything that she was there now. But a more logical part of him knew that he had no right to wish for such things.

Instead, he stood, watching the river drifting past him. It was carrying part of him away with it, and he hoped that what was left was good enough. Too late to do anything else now. The clouds had begun to descend upon the city, bringing with it a light rain and a suffocating fog. He shivered, yet he remained stationary.

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He began to walk around to the other side of the bench, and for a moment, he considered sitting down. It would be nice after such violent emissions. But as made his way to the other side, that possibility also began to feel unpleasant. It had started again, that floating that had carried him here. Now, it was carrying him closer and closer to the edge of the dock.

When at last he had found himself with his toes sticking out over the edge, he looked down into the dark water, where he could see his own forlorn reflection. He wasn’t sure when he had begun to look so lost, but the image staring back at him deflated him further. Such a sorry individual. That was the thought that rang through his head over and over.

It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a fact, being repeated. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he no longer felt disappointment at the pitiful man staring back at him. In fact, it was the complete antithesis to that feeling. He was angry. It stirred from a depth within him that he did not know was there. The hatred he felt for the person staring back at him was unequivocal, something that could not remain passive.

When he dove into the river, there was no feeling of fear or regret. His very constitution was being warped by the desire to annihilate himself, and he felt very little working to oppose it.