The boy raced past me, barging through the many people in the Friday night rush. He looked lonely and lost, so I decided to follow him: just to make sure he was alright. Whether this was the right idea or not, I don’t know?
I crept up closer to him every time he slowed down to see if he was alright, but as soon as he slowed down he raced off again; each time quicker than the last.
One time I heard him murmuring about him being bullied at school. I felt sympathetic for him. Everyone feels the pain of a school bully. Anyway, he kept running on and on, not stopping once unless he had to.
The one time he did stop was when a paving slab slipped down when he stood on it and he tripped. He hit his nose: it started bleeding immediately after. I bent down to ask him if he was alright, but he got straight up and rushed away.
Obviously I followed him, and that’s how I ended up here. On the castle ruins that overlook the sea.
I stood behind the crumbling ruins, peeping beside them to see his every action.
I gasped. He was positioning himself as if he was going to dive off the edge. Surely he wouldn’t jump off, would he?
He had family at home didn’t he? My brain flashed back to when he was running. He mumbled something about a bully. The bully hadn’t made him want to commit suicide and jump off the edge and kill himself, had it? He stumbled around and prepared himself to jump. I called out for him to stop, but he didn’t listen. Was he going to jump? The question reoccurred every second in my mind. Was he going to die?
But then my questions ended. He jumped off the edge, into the silky, blue water…
He was gone. I felt so guilty.
Why hadn’t I saved him?
Why did I let him go?
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