River of Sorrows: Prologue

Keith 

April 16th, 2020

I replayed what I witnessed over and over again in my head on an endless loop that threatened to strip away what little sanity I had left. My hands still shook, and my heart pounded like crazy. My girlfriend sat beside me, completely oblivious to me, and her friends were talking like it was just any other day. They acted as if the birthday girl wasn't missing her own party. She was the girl of the hour, the reason why I was even here in the first place, yet they all acted as if she was simply taking her sweet little time getting here. But I was the only one who knew where she was and why she hadn’t shown up yet. 

    “Hey, are you feeling alright? You look a little pale. Did something happen?” Lea, my lovely girlfriend, asked me as I shook my head. I wanted to shake her and tell her I wasn’t okay—I wasn’t okay at all—but I knew if I did that, then that would only lead to more questions, and I was still wrapping my head around what I witnessed on that cursed bridge. 

    “Where’s your restroom?” I asked, my voice cracking, as I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. Felix, the birthday girl’s brother, pointed down the hall and gave me a weird look. I immediately regretted asking such a stupid question since this wasn’t the first time I’ve been at his house. 

    “It’s down the hall, to the right, where it’s always been.” 

    “Right,” I muttered, mostly to myself, as I left the room. I frantically entered the restroom and locked the door shut behind me. The last thing I needed was someone walking in on me having a panic attack. 

    I looked up at the mirror for the first time. My skin was deathly pale, and my hands still shook as I repeatedly splashed water on my face, hoping that would somehow put my mind and body at ease. I barely recognized my own reflection. No wonder Lea and everyone else were so worried about me. 

    I faced the sink, my head down low and pounded my fist on the counter. 

    Seriously, what was wrong with me? 

    I kept replaying the same image in my head continuously until I grew sick of it. 

    Her wide blue eyes kept staring back at me, her screams of pure terror echoed inside my eardrums, and her long golden blonde hair slowly faded as she fell backwards, and her body hit the water below. The water rippled after she fully submerged under it, and the sound was enough to make my skin crawl. Before she fell, she took one last longing look at me, her eyes pleading and begging me to save her. I wanted to be heroic for once, but my feet were frozen in place. 

    The guy on the bridge was only a teenager like me, just a year older than the girl. His face screamed he was guilty, but I only witnessed the girl falling. I never actually saw him push her; I could only assume that’s what he did. 

    Why else would he have a face of guilt? 

    If he didn’t push her, then why didn’t he try to save her? 

    Then again, why didn’t I?