Sam looked out his window, at the gloomy Sunday morning that awaited him. Beads of rain trickled down the windowpane, relative to the tears that had run down his face the night prior. At this point, Sam Lewis wasn’t even sure why he cried anymore. Nothing was worth the expense of his emotions.

   But why? Why were these feelings so prominent in his life? Or perhaps it was the lack thereof. A lack of emotion, and feeling. Could this be the catalyst that had abruptly caused him to silently sob the night before? Alone, in the dark, cold room in which he resides. Wallowing in woe. Bottling down all of those dark, cold emotions, until finally their pressure causes his dam, his facade to fail. To obliterate. Could his bedroom be an embodiment of those feelings?

   These thoughts were not those that crossed his mind that morning. The thought that had, was if this was going to be “the day.” It would be perfect, Sam thought to himself. “Yes, it would,” he spoke out into the empty room. The ambiance of this dreary morning couldn’t be ignored as coincidence. It was meant to be. This was the day he would finally bring an end to his suffering.

                                                          ___________

   As he walked down the street, cold bullets of rain shooting down at him from the sky, Sam wondered why he hadn’t just purchased a gun. A simple six-round revolver would’ve done the job. Any firearm would have, for that matter. Sam decided that the Bridge would be fine. Almost two-thousand people had shared the same opinion as him.

   It was Valentine’s Day, and the rainy-weather wasn’t that uncommon for San Francisco during this month. Everything just seemed to be planned by Fate. It was the day she had left, the weather on this destined day was just how he had wanted it to be. And his apartment was only a few blocks away from the Bridge. His destiny seemed to be aligning with his present.

   Sam began to think about her. Annalise Winston. “Anal Anna.” Always so organized, so neat. So obsessive. “No, Sam. That’s not how you’re supposed to wash the dishes” “Christ, Sam! Why don’t you ever pick up your clothes?” And so on. God, the house was always clinically clean. Always smelling of antiseptic, and cleaning-supplies. Oh, how that infuriated Sam. And how Sam infuriated Anna. Nothing he did was ever perfect for her. Never was he good enough. He was always slouching, or breathing through his mouth. How he thanked God she wasn’t here to see him like this. Disheveled, without a shower in over a week. Not brushing his teeth, hardly eating.

   It started out in bed; she'd frequently be “too tired,” and whenever they did make love, it didn’t really feel like “love.” Then it progressed to “having to stay at work a little late.” Every night, it seemed she came home later, and later, until eventually she didn’t come back at all. Sam had waited that entire night by the phone, praying she was caught in traffic due to an accident. Praying that it wasn’t her who had got in a car-wreck. At around four-o’-clock in the morning, Sam knew that she wasn’t coming back. He knew that it wasn’t an accident; it was him.

   He wished for her to be by his side now, wished to hear her tell him that he wasn’t “walking correctly,” or something similar. Sam would give anything to hear her criticism. Now he was about a block from the Golden Gate Bridge. Thinking about the note he had left, he wondered why he had written it to begin with. It would take forever for anyone to notice he was gone, unless someone saw him jump. And who would care, anyway? Why would the cop going through his personal effects care about a sheet of paper reading: “Life could be a dream, if only I could take you up in paradise up above.”

   His depression had caused him to perceive almost all of the music he listened to in a negative, and dark manner. Sam liked this particular lyric from the Coaster’s song, “Life Could Be a Dream,” given its significance to his suicide. He smiled, thinking of the concept of “buyer’s remorse.” Sam thought that if one changed it to “lover’s remorse,” it would fit his current situation rather appropriately.

   As he looked up, he saw that he had arrived at the Bridge. There weren’t many people out that day, save for a few commuters that didn’t give Sam Lewis a single glance, let alone a thought. He inhaled deeply, taking in the salty, yet sweet smell of the ocean-breeze, mixed with the smell of dead-fish from the San Francisco Bay. Soon he would join them. He walked beside the cars that sped past him, looking out into the ocean. The beauty of the Pacific captivated him, as a tear began to roll down his left cheek.

   He stood there in a silent trance, gazing out into the sea, when a woman walked up to him. At first, he ignored her, until he saw through his peripherals that she was looking at him. Annoyed, he glanced over at her. She was smiling. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked, looking out into the ocean. “I guess,” Sam muttered. He began to walk farther down, and became extremely pissed off when he noticed she was following him.

   “Can I help you?” he snapped, as he stopped abruptly in his tracks, spinning around. The woman continued to smile. “Nope, just strollin’.” Sam scoffed, and continued walking, hoping she would eventually leave. “My name is Milvy. Milvy Haroldsen. What’s yours?” Sam paused, and turned around. “Sam Lewis. Are you going to leave?” This made her grin. “Nope, not until I’m one-hundred-percent sure that you’re not a jumper.” Her smile did not go well with that sentence. 

   “Wh–” he started, but didn’t finish. Sam was going to ask, “What makes you think that,” when he realized that they had gone to the same high school. “D-Did you go to Lowell High?” he stuttered, growing increasingly nervous. She glanced to her right, at the ocean. “Yes, I did. And I remember you.” Sam wasn’t surprised, as it was only two years ago that they both graduated in the class of ‘97. What he was nervous about, was the fact that she was one of Anna’s closest friends. Sam pleaded with the gods to not have her bring up Anna.

   “I’m sorry about Annalise,” her smile had somewhat dissipated, but she still looked like a regular old optimist. Sam wished for that revolver. Of course she would have told Milvy,  he thought. “Yeah. . .” Sam spoke quietly, looking first at his dilapidated shoes, then at her expensive ones, and finally back out to sea. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you at the funeral.” This sentence brought him back down to the wretched sphere of misery named Earth. Sam’s heart began to race, pounding inside of his chest. Eyes wide, he asked her what she meant. “Anna’s, I’m just saying I expected you to be there.”

   Sam seriously considered jumping right then and there. Swallowing his emotions, their bitter flavor being one he was most accustomed to, Sam asked her what had happened. “Oh, crap. You really don’t know, do you?” His throat began to get that feeling when you’re just about to cry, and it tenses up as if there is something stuck. Sam asked her what happened. “Well, after you guys broke up, she started dating this disgusting psychopath.” At least she stepped up a couple rungs on the ladder, he thought to himself.

   “No one liked this guy, and we all tried to tell Anna that he wasn’t good for her” she took a pause, and a deep breath, when Sam interjected. “He killed her, didn’t he?” Sam’s face was completely blank, his tone monotonous. Milvy looked into his eyes, and he saw no trace of the optimist that had known he was at Death’s door. She shook her head, and reached out a hand, placing it on his shoulder. Sam shifted his arm, and took a step back. “She killed herself, Sam.” Now it was his turn to shake his head. “No,” Sam denied, laughing. “No, she wouldn’t do that.” But then again, how well did he really know her? “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Sam looked up at her, grinning as she had before.

   “Life could be a dream,” he chuckled, “if only I could take you up in paradise up above.” Sam lunged at her, grabbing Milvy into an embrace. She screamed, as he thought to himself, I couldn’t take you, so I’ll take your friend. I’m hoping we’ll meet again. Sam threw himself, along with Milvy, over the side of the bridge. They both plunged over two-hundred feet through the cold February air into the freezing ocean, another statistic to be joined by many more, until the completion of the Golden Gate Bridge’s “suicide-net” in the year 2024.

                                                       ___________

   Sam awoke screaming, soon followed by Anna who was startled by her boyfriend’s abrupt awakening. She scoffed, and asked him what it was this time. He looked over at her, poking Anna’s arm to see if she was real. “This is the third time this week, Sam. You need to get help.” Anna got up out of bed, and dressed for the day. It was Saturday, February 14th, 1998. By the time he had gotten out of bed, Anna was already out the door. “Wait,” he called out, “don’t leave! Please!” She looked back at him, and scoffed once more. “Goodbye, Sam.”

End.