chapter one – emery

I can feel the wind running through my hair, making it messy. I spread my arms out, pretending I am ready to fly. Fly somewhere far away from here. I balance over the brick wall, listening to the water running ten meters under me. Obviously, the wall has failed in its purpose. It’s an easy thing for me to walk over it, although the bricks are meant to keep me safe from falling down the other side of the bridge.
“Hey!” my head flies around to the direction of the shout. I find a girl with shoulder-long, black hair, that is partially held back by a white bow, standing on the bridge, watching me. She has as many freckles on her face as the night sky has stars. I can see them from here, even though the bridge is only dimly lit.
The girl is lucky that my balance is so good. Otherwise, I would’ve fallen down the bridge earlier than I planned.
“Are you new here?” the girl asks, slowly coming nearer.
“Kind of,” it’s not a lie. I lived here when I was younger and then moved away for my mum’s job. Now we moved back here a few weeks ago, also for my mum’s job.
Then, the girl is standing next to me, on the safe side of the bridge. Before I realise it, she’s climbing up the brick wall, sitting down on it, feet dangling over the depths of the water.
She’s either crazy or hurt in a way similar to me.
“What’s your name?” she wants to know.
“Emery. And yours?” I ask her back.
“Elizabeth, but I go by Bea because Elizabeth is an old people’s name,” Bea explains to me. At that, I have to smile.
“Do you just believe in God so strongly that you think it’s worth risking your life balancing on this bridge? Or are you trying to kill yourself?” Bea asks, eyeing me curiously.
I am too stunned to speak by the way she just casually drops a question like that. Most people don’t even want to think about something like this, or, much more can’t think about it. It’s such a scary thing to think about some people that they don’t try to deal with it. Bea doesn’t even show a little bit of fear talking about it.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly.
It’s not like I am suicidal. At least I don’t think I am. I’ve thought about dying, but not in a serious way. Only in a way where I don’t care if I live or die. But would I really jump?
“What are you doing here? Are you trying to kill yourself?” I demand to know, instead of thinking about her question more.
I watch how she looks out over the water, her eyes aimed at something only she knows.
“I will tell you when you sit down, okay? Because I am nearly having a heart attack every time you balance on there on one foot,” Bea admits. It’s the first time that I see a flicker of fear in her eyes. And I don’t know what makes me do it, I don’t even know her. But I sit down.
“So?” I prompt, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t want to die. Quite the opposite, actually. I am trying to live as much as possible,” Bea explains sincerely, a smile appearing on her lips.