The night was cold and moonless, lit only by the dim streetlamps. It was one of those few nights where it seemed one could see every star in the sky, every constellation. A woman walked briskly, huddled in her coat, drowning away the memories of a night sky so eerily similar to this and a stiff silence she couldn't ever forget.
She fumbled for the key to her flat as she approached the tenement, blinded by the pitch black night and her own barrage of tears. "Damnit," she croaked as the key clattered to the pavement.
She had had enough. She couldn't take anything anymore. Work was hard, harder than she had expected, but she figured it wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't alone, so unbearably alone. Her flat smelled strange and she could always hear the neighbors' perpetual arguments through the thin, peeling walls, but it wouldn't be so grating if she wasn't so incredibly isolated. Men were lewd and crude creatures, especially the ones in her neighborhood, but she figured she could handle it if someone was by her side, protecting her from their lecherous calls.
But most of all, the bed she slept in was cold, the blankets scratchy. She cried herself to sleep every night, only to dream of a paradise that by morning she found out didn't exist. And then, she would cry some more.
This crimson-curled woman fought back more hot tears as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, shivering in the cold, stale air of the flat. There were a few moments of stagnant silence, even the neighbors seemed to have gone to sleep, then a blood-curdling scream ripped from her lips.
The woman's chest heaved; that was the loudest she had been in years. Satisfied with the sound, the woman sob-screamed again, this time throwing her purse at the wall. Another cry, and off came the jacket. Another, and her hair was torn from its careful bun. The neighbors were now banging on her wall, yelling for her to be quiet, but the woman ignored them.
She burst back through the door, tearing down the hall and out of the tenement, fresh tears freezing on her cheeks. The sound of her heels against the pavement echoed across the empty street. The woman almost smiled at the familiarity of the situation. History was repeating itself. But there was no blue-eyed artist to save her now. Just the empty streets and the weight in her chest, goading her forward.
She knew exactly where she was going to go.
The steel rails of the bridge bit into the warm flesh of her palms, and she sobbed again as she mounted the rail and swung to the other side. She felt oddly calm as she leaned away from the railing, gazing at the black ocean waters. Yes, she knew just what to do.
Slowly, very slowly, the woman loosened her grasp on the railing, getting farther from safety and farther from doubt. After an eternal moment, she fell toward the water, her cotton dress billowing behind her and her scarlet hair flying in the wind. The world seemed to move in slow motion as the waves got closer, and though she was sure they must have been making some sound, she couldn't hear anything but her own heart beating in her chest.
She closed her eyes as she felt the chill of the water envelop her. She was content, peaceful, serene.
And she let the sea swallow her.