The dead do not harm you.  There were stories about malevolent spirits
-- those lost souls whose pain would not permit them to leave this
plane completely.  He refused to believe them.  They were too cruel,
the ultimate irony.  If pressed, he thought that perhaps the life-force
of those brutally murdered might roam this world, seeking retribution
for their horrible end.  But suicides?  He thought not.  Those
unfortunates sought only relief from whatever hell their lives had
become, release from an existence without hope.

To not find a modicum of comfort in the brilliance of a late summer
day; the touch and love of a friend or the contemplation of the
possibilities of the future, near and far; this was something beyond
the comprehension of many.

However, he thought he understood.

What was that ridiculous saying -- looking at a glass and seeing that
it was half empty as opposed to half full?  The ultimate cliché but
described this particular state of mind succinctly!  There were no
words that could convince, no feelings that could be conveyed that
could bore through the despair.  Nothing was enough, Robbie had said: 
nothing was worth this pain.

Surely this was all a night terror from which he expected at any moment
to awake.

That last awful day together belonged to someone else's life.  It had
seemed a typical day:  he and Robbie had lunched, talking about
everything and nothing.  However, there was something different about
it this time.  He sensed it immediately:  the way Robbie looked at the
pavement instead of at him, the air between them heavy with unspoken
emotion.  He never knew what made him ask Robbie the question.  -
What's happening with you and Monique? -

Such a small question to encompass such a wide range of feeling. 
Robbie had been besotted with the woman, much as he was besotted with
Robbie.  He could smile now, thinking about how Robbie had felt the
ticking of that biological clock that supposedly only women felt.  The
next birthday looming would have been the fortieth and Monique had to
be the one, the mate for life, the mother of his children.  How to tell
her that, though, had been the dilemma of Robbie's life.  That he could
not share Robbie's enthusiasm was the dark secret of his life:  that he
had looked into Monique's face and seen an entirely different creature,
one not given to the consideration of the feelings of others, pressed
on his heart.  But Robbie had wanted her and only her and his love for
this man, the overwhelming desire for only his happiness, had kept him
silent.

Robbie had not replied for a moment, swallowed a few times before
attempting to speak.  As he  watched Robbie's face twisting with the
effort of emotional control, he felt as if he'd stopped breathing.  A
wave of compassion tinged with panic engulfed him and he thought here
before him sat such a tender soul with such timidity towards life. 
Another rejection had sent Robbie careening out of control, crashing
over a cliff at break-neck speed to find the haunting familiarity of
terrifying solitude rushing up to meet him.

This day, today, seemed a day like any other.  The English summer
turned rainy for awhile.  Typical and appropriate he thought, as he
rested on the bench.  This bench, their bench, right outside the sprawl
of shops with the town traffic whizzing by as it did any and every day.
 There was a lull in the rain but the heaviness of the air promised
more.

He still grasped the piece of paper in his hand, seemingly forgotten. 
Of course, it could never be forgotten, Robbie's last words to him. 
His sighed came from a soul he denied having, a heart critically
injured.  He looked into the sky, turbulent with gray and silver clouds
and thought how like the storm raging inside himself whenever he
thought of Robbie twisting, helpless, at the end of that rope.

Like what you've read? Have suggestions or constructive criticism? Email me! tlyr (at) tlyr.co.uk