Boots

The sun hasn’t risen yet. A young man, not yet thirty, walks along a bridge over a deep river. The river and all around the bridge is surrounded by white fog. One can only see but two feet in front of his face. The man, dressed in army fatigues, glances at a wristwatch on his right arm. It’s silver, plain, with a black leather band. On the back side of it is written ‘Merry Christmas 1934’. Setting his hands on the cold, damp railing of the bridge, the man looks over the edge. He inhales deeply, feeling the mist wet his lungs. Taking his left hand, the man runs his fingers through his blonde hair. Taking a deep breath, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a letter. He reads through it and sighs. He supposes it’ll have to do. Setting it on the ground, the man starts to untie his boots. Slipping them off each of his feet, he places the letter on top of them. Now, in his socks, he begins to climb the railing. Sitting with his feet dangling over the edge, he closes his eyes and shivers slightly against the wind. Opening his eyes just in time to see the beautiful sunrise, he smiles. The sun pierces through the fog in waves. The light ripples through the cold morning and lands on the man’s face, illuminating the bridge with golden beauty. Inhaling the scents of the river and the forest below, the man feels at peace. He swings his legs back over the side of the bridge and gets off the railing. He picks up the letter. He looks around. The fog has lifted, and the man can see everything around him. Flipping the letter over in his hands, he starts tearing it in half, over and over again. Holding the pieces of the letter, he gets back on the railing, leans over a bit, and winds up to toss the letter as far away as he can. Thrusting the letter through the air and watching it flutter down to meet the glassy water below, he feels triumphant. He forgets about everything and watches the paper soak in the gray water and slowly fall down to the river’s bottom. Through the forest a big eighteen-wheeler truck comes rolling almost silently through the early morning. It comes to a bridge and the driver swerves slightly seeing some boots in the road and a man on the bridge. The man is slightly in the way, so the driver honks to get his attention. Startled, the man on the bridge turns round quickly, his hands and socked feet slipping on the wet metal. Feeling his heart skip a beat, the man slips from the bridge and tumbles fifty feet into the water below. A crash of water is heard and the man is dead. The truck driver is thoroughly startled, and as soon as he gets off the bridge he pulls over and jumps out, running back to where he saw the man fall. He calls out to him, looks frantically around, and starts heading down to the water. He calls out some more to the fallen man but he gets no reply. Taking a deep, nervous breath, the man starts running into the water. He goes as far as he can walk because he isn’t a swimmer, but he doesn’t find any hint of the other man. He searches for just under fifteen minutes, then gets a cold chill and runs back out of the water. He shakes himself off a bit and heads back to his truck. He reaches in the cab and pulls out a towel and some blankets. He dries himself off rather hurriedly, then goes back and collects the boots. He puts them in the truck beside him, and he starts the engine. Checking his mirrors and looking behind himself, he pulls back onto the road. He drives towards the nearest town and reports what he saw to the police. He doesn’t mention the boots. The police thank him and bid him a good day. The truck driver stops in the convenience store and grabs a couple packages of Twinkies and Little Debbie Cakes and a coffee and heads back to his truck. Thirty years later, the truck driver is married with two children and five grandchildren. He’s never told his wife about the boots, just that they were very important to him. She always thought his dad was in the army. The boots sit by the fireplace, under the mantel. Every week he shines them and reties them. He’s kept them safe, because he knows why that man fell all those years ago, and he’s saddened by it. He feels guilty. So he keeps the boots and keeps them well in an attempt to somehow make himself feel better. It works, and eventually he convinces himself that that man jumped. He dies thinking this, and that’s the end of it.

Author's Note

Is the ending any good?

Reviews

[r.r.walker]

I like the boots as the connection between the two but the story sounds like it's leading to a twist at the end and convincing himself that the man jumped is what most people would probably do. If you stick with that ending, you may want to describe more of things he's done to convince himself and why it wasn't working and what finally convinced him to let it go.
I kind of feel like you may have left it open for someone to find parts of the letter and maybe continue the story...
Good job though!