Dave ambled his way down Winter St., listening to the steady beat of rain on his head. Running down his distorted face, the cold drops mixed with his tears, leaving a salty taste on his lips.

“Who-...Who are you!? Janie… Why!?”
“Dave, please Dave, I didn’t think you’d be here!”

The words still echoed through his ears as if she has just said them. “Come on God, I need some help here,” Dave whispered. “Gimme a sign God, do I have a purpose!?” At that moment, a trash can came into Daves view. Protruding from it was a peice of thick rope. He broke down and cried.

30 minutes later, dave stood on the edge of the bridge at the end of the street, one end tied to a steel beam, the other around his neck. “I should stop before I hit the water,” he thought, leaning over the edge. A small hand broke the rain ridden surface, followed by the blurred image of a small child slowly flowing down river. Without thinking, Dave untied the rope and tossed the looped end into the water, were the drowning child grabed it.