THE SEAGULLS' CRY
He stood on the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge and watched the full moon set over the water. Through the growing mass of fog, he saw the black waves roll softly below as the wind rushed through him. He heard a flock of seagulls in the distance; their unnerving cries echoed off the water and resonated within him. His fingers tapped lightly on the railing as a slight shiver ran up his spine. George had always wanted to see the ocean, especially along the western coast: the rough sea, the rocky shoreline, the chilling breeze. He berated himself for not coming here sooner.
What a perfect night, he thought.
He took a long, slow breath and tightened his grip on the cold metal railing. Then, with all his strength, he hoisted himself up and leapt into the open air. He was deafened by the rushing wind, his face numbed from the icy daggers, but he enjoyed the sensation of weightlessness. The wind brushed back his muddy brown hair - what was left of it, at least - and his dull gray cardigan billowed around him like the wings of a seagull. He closed his eyes as his arms spread out wide and waited in anticipation for the waters cold embrace. But his fall seemed to stretch into eternity. Frustrated, he opened his eyes and saw the waves rushing past only inches from his nose.
He wasn't falling, but soaring over the watery abyss far from shore. He dropped his arms to his side and forced his body to stop. He floated over the calm waters and peered back at the bustling city lights on the distant shore. Tears welled up in his eyes and he cupped his face in his hands as his shoulders began to tremble. He hadn't wanted this. He wanted to die and join his daughter in a blissful afterlife. He wondered how she would appear to him; she was only a baby when she died, yet decades had passed since then.
Her death brought on the end of his eight-year marriage; they tried to have a child for years, a stressful but happy time. When his wife became pregnant, they were overjoyed; but the child never breathed the open air, never received a name. Her only inheritance a blank tombstone. His wife shut down and couldn’t bear the sight of him, and he suppressed his own grief in order to care for her. After she left, he spent his days alone - not even a pet or a houseplant to keep him company. He bounced around between dead-end jobs, the only kind he could find without a high school degree. Then he found a good job at a liquor store in the outskirts of the Kansas City metropolis. He quickly rose through the ranks to the title of Store Manager and held that title for almost fifteen years. Then he quit.
It was the day after he heard about Courtney, the twenty-one-year-old girl he hired only a few weeks before. She was mugged at a gas station on her way home from work. The mugger shot her, and she spent three days in the ICU before dying. George didn't know her well, but the tragedy still struck him hard. He couldn't imagine what her parents went through, but he knew they would have given anything to trade places with her.
George slumped forward and felt the waves brush against his worn soles. He cried loudly like a baby, his grief unfiltered within the dark abyss as his tears spilled into the salty sea.
What do I do now? he thought.
Gasping for air, he looked up into the fading night sky for answers. Among the twinkling stars, he saw the vague outline of seagulls flying overhead. He could join them if he wished; he could travel the world yet live among the stars. He thought about all the places he wanted to see - the Netherlands, the Mediterranean, New Zealand, China and Japan – places brimming with adventure and new possibilities. He could live a nomadic life - a humble life of nonattachment.
Thrusting his chin upward, he reached his hand towards the sky and felt the wind brush back his hair. He soared higher and higher until he could no longer see the city. Among the clouds, he laughed like he hadn’t laughed in a long time. He tumbled through the air, attempting complex acrobatics, accelerated speeds and steep dives. His robust laughter echoed off the clouds and resonated through the air. Light slowly filled the night sky and rays of white and gold streaked across the thick gray clouds. Below, the city began to stir; cars crawled out of their caves and onto the pavement, lights flickered in and out of consciousness, the hum drum of machinery arose into the sky at a sluggish pace.
George dove down and felt the swelling waves crash against his fingertips as he flew towards the bay. He would pass under the bridge and emerge on the other side to find a new life waiting for him. But as he neared the gargantuan metal frame, he saw a speck of neon red floating on the ledge. It seemed to glow, casting a divine light that drew George towards its presence. Blinded by this light, he shielded his eyes and rose to meet it. But then he heard crying. He lowered his arm to his side and came face to face with a young woman, who wept with her forehead lying on the railing. Her long brown hair tumbled over her crossed arms in big waves, spilling out of her oversized bright red hoodie. She was so young – a teenager, perhaps – and George began to wonder what could’ve possibly led her here. She took a long, slow breath and lifted her head. She stumbled back a few steps at the sight of George – this strange floating man – and gasped for air as she stared at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, hesitantly.
She paused for a moment, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve as she sniffled.
“No,” she said in a hoarse voice. Her eyes started to water again as she looked down, her lips trembling.
George didn’t know what to say. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Charlotte,” she said, quirking up her eyebrow.
“I’m George,” he said. He reached out his hand and smiled warmly.
Charlotte drew her hands close to her chest and eyed him warily, but George continued to smile and wait. Hesitantly, Charlotte reached out her hand and placed it in his. His smile deepened as he gently shook her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
Charlotte smiled and let out a soft chuckle. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said, a tear dripping down her cheek.
Suddenly, Charlotte’s feet began to lift off the ground. Her eyes widened and she squealed at the sudden feeling of weightlessness. George only laughed and reached for her other hand to steady her. She looked in his eyes and laughed, both confused and exhilarated. He smiled warmly at her, his eyes crinkling, and let go. Then he fell. Charlotte reached out – eyes wide and screaming – but he slipped away and plunged through the air towards the icy water.
His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his body freeze from the sudden sensation of falling. He was going to die. He didn’t want this. He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. His body crashed into the waves, and he felt the impact like a thousand icy daggers. But when he gasped for air, he realized he was standing on the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge, tears streaming down his face.
He stumbled back a few steps and clenched his chest. He was bone dry – except for his cheeks. He tightly grabbed the railing and slowly regained his breath. He looked out over the sea and wondered what happened. He looked up at the clouds and recalled the sensation of soaring through the sky; it felt too real to be simply imagined. He looked behind him and watched the sun slowly rise over the glistening city.
What do I do now? he thought.
He looked up to the sky and saw a flock of seagulls in the distance. Their cries echoed over the water, but amongst them he heard a soft echo of laughter. He shielded his eyes from the sun and smiled when he saw a flash of red streak across the sky.