The Bridge pt. 2 (pt. 1 in the comment above)
anonymous
March 30 2009, 13:11:41 UTC
When the boat arrived with men in while full-body suits the crowd gathered at the railings began to disperse. On the bridge Berwald handed over the few things the jumper had left behind- the folded leather jacket, along with a wallet and a dog tag. He hurried over to hug his shocked wife and leave as fast as possible.
When the phone rang at the Notting Hill apartment in the early hours of the morning, the Englishman wished he could ignore it. He let it ring out and buried his head back into his pillow, not even looking up the next time it started. Right after that, however, his cellphone rang out from on top of the bedside cabinet. Picking it up, he paused for a second to find out who was calling. Matthew? Surely he knew the time differences? “Look, there better be a bloody good reason for waking me up at 3am on a Tue-” he snapped. “It's Alfred,” the boy sobbed, “He's... he's dead.” Arthur slid down against the wall as the Canadian continued to cry. Something about a bridge and water, something about broken bones or drowning. He put his head between his knees and closed his eyes.
He didn't want to believe it.
+++++++ I forgot to title the last one! Part one is above this. Yet again, sorry for the fail anon ><;;
Re: The Bridge pt. 2 (pt. 1 in the comment above)
anonymous
April 14 2009, 20:36:41 UTC
Y-You, you almost had me crying there. Oh my God, I really love how everything just... HAPPENS. You didn't go in depth on the important things, like why Alfred commited suicide, and I really love how you made it sort of something to speculate.
I found the end so bitter too, but that's what made it so great. D: How Arthur didn't want to believe it and stuff.
When the phone rang at the Notting Hill apartment in the early hours of the morning, the Englishman wished he could ignore it. He let it ring out and buried his head back into his pillow, not even looking up the next time it started. Right after that, however, his cellphone rang out from on top of the bedside cabinet. Picking it up, he paused for a second to find out who was calling. Matthew? Surely he knew the time differences?
“Look, there better be a bloody good reason for waking me up at 3am on a Tue-” he snapped.
“It's Alfred,” the boy sobbed, “He's... he's dead.”
Arthur slid down against the wall as the Canadian continued to cry. Something about a bridge and water, something about broken bones or drowning. He put his head between his knees and closed his eyes.
He didn't want to believe it.
+++++++
I forgot to title the last one! Part one is above this. Yet again, sorry for the fail anon ><;;
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On the other hand...*sniff* Poor Alfred. :( Good job, writer!anon
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I found the end so bitter too, but that's what made it so great. D: How Arthur didn't want to believe it and stuff.
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