Читать книгу Dead End - Влад Вас - Страница 6

Night, November, and the weather there corresponds to the season — small drops of never-ending rain fall from the canopy of heaven, the air temperature is still barely above zero, the roads are wet and slippery, a little bit yellow from the sadly street lights, and the bright colors of the mighty city glyph far away.

“What a high bridge…” said the young man, slightly raising his voice from excitement and amazement, stepping over the fence separating the sidewalk from the roadway with the car parked next to it.

Carelessly stepping into the puddles, paying no special attention to them, he approached the railing, blocking his path into the cold stream of water from the procellous river, about twenty-five meters below. A fall from such a height if doesn’t kill right away, it will surely make a cripple of someone, and this will make self-rescue very difficult, taking into account the temperature of the water and the stream current. Even for a professional swimmer athlete, this is an almost impossible test with the less than minimum chance of survival.

The man about whom the story began, belonged to a middle-aged people, whose face is hard to notice, to make out, even with a great difficulty, only his silhouette and dark short hair were provided. He was of medium height, athletic build. Raising the collar of a black short coat, the central figure of the story was squinting from the rain, caught in the wind, flying straight to his face and running down his cheeks. Although it did bring him some discomfort, it didn’t disturb or worry too much. Inside him, and in this whole situation, there was some mystery, a certain dolor, sadness, and a huge bunch of lean questions.

“And what a beautiful view opens from here… A wonderful place to part with the world and life…”