Hunched over and folded into his coat and into himself, he walked. The street, lit orange by the streetlamps, was shiny from the rain. He blinked as raindrops fell against his eyelashes and was acutely aware of how this would be the last rainfall he'd experience. Thoughtlessly, he gently crouched down in a doorway and searched in his ratty trench coat pocket for that final cigarette, a cigarette he'd bummed from a plain looking girl in the train station. Crunch, flare. He lit up.
Some minutes later, he stamped on the butt and heaved himself up again. Leaning against the doorway, he thought. He felt no nerves, no unsurety. He knew what he was going to do and had accepted that he had no other choice. He started to walk on, and as he passed a bin he dropped in his train ticket. "Won't be needing that." He thought, with a smile that brought tears to his eyes.
When he'd awoken that morning, in a cheap motel room, fully dressed, the first thing he did was answer the ringing telephone. Now, heading slowly towards the bridge, he realised he couldn't really remember a word of what was said. All he knew was that she was gone. He knew that he'd been told things like "They did everything they could.", "It was just too late" and he was thankful to his memory for blocking those tepid sentiments out.
If only he'd booked the train for the day before, he'd be with her now. If only he... If only... No. He'd already decided he wasn't going to grieve, wasn't going to let himself think it over. He knew that no end of thinking would always lead him to the same conclusion. So he trudged on. To the bridge.
As he walked out of the town and along the stony road, the rain eased up, and the sky began to grow light with the early hours of a new day. He paused and breathed in deeply through his nose, wondering if he could still gain any pleasure from the world. But as the cool, clean air filled his lungs, he felt only resignation and as he saw the sun slip over the horizon, he knew only endings.
Rounding a corner, he caught sight of the bridge and slipped his coat off behind him, letting it drop on the floor. As he walked on, rhythmically, he flipped open the buttons on his shirt, and let that drop too. Reaching the bridge, he allowed himself one sentimental look back at the road he'd travelled and then pulled himself up to sit on the stone wall at the side of the bridge. He removed his shoes and socks and noted that his breathing had quickened. His eyes felt hot, but as he stepped down onto a ledge on the other side of the wall, the feeling of the wind on his bare neck calmed him.