Anthony turned to face the river, clutching the railing at his back.
It somehow seemed inviting, the moonlight shimmering on the eddies.
He lifted a foot, leaving it hovering.
‘Is that really the answer, son?’
‘Probably.’
‘What about your parents?’
‘They won’t give a shit. I’ve failed all of their expectations.’
‘I sure that’s not true. And your friends?’
‘What friends?’
‘How about I be your friend then?’
‘No thanks.’
‘I’m a good listener.’
Anthony stared at the quick moving water.
‘Come-on, son. Climb back over.’
Anthony looked back, held the old man’s gaze and let go of the bridge.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
This is potent, Rob. Makes me wonder what was so hard for Anthony to take that he got to that point. I could see this as part of a larger story...
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