More about Suspension
In a year when thirty people jumped from San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge to commit suicide and succeeded one person determined to join their throng.
Near light pole numbered sixty-nine, he swan-dives off the ledge, traveling at a velocity of eighty mph, free-falling 250 feet at low tide. Bound to converge on the despondent crowd of over 1,600 who preceded him in death since the majestic span erected in 1937, something shifts. Instant regret consumes him the minute he unhands the viaduct. But the chance for survival after the four-second drop stands at less than one percent.
What if somewhere between his last contact with the steel bridge and the impact of the frigid, bone-crushing bay, hovers an alternative Courtroom in the Sky? A panel of Judges who reviews the motives in a person’s life.
Here enters Ralph “Specter” Specht, the famous frontman for the rock band, Ghosts of Fleas. In the eyes of the world he led a good existence, talented, successful, and spoiled. Nobody thought he could do such a thing, fling himself over the edge, even him. Not until the dark impulse.
The defendant on trial crosses the threshold into weighted proceedings. With a blooming change of mind, Ralph wonders if he will find a different sentence than what he first intended. His verdict awaits.
Near light pole numbered sixty-nine, he swan-dives off the ledge, traveling at a velocity of eighty mph, free-falling 250 feet at low tide. Bound to converge on the despondent crowd of over 1,600 who preceded him in death since the majestic span erected in 1937, something shifts. Instant regret consumes him the minute he unhands the viaduct. But the chance for survival after the four-second drop stands at less than one percent.
What if somewhere between his last contact with the steel bridge and the impact of the frigid, bone-crushing bay, hovers an alternative Courtroom in the Sky? A panel of Judges who reviews the motives in a person’s life.
Here enters Ralph “Specter” Specht, the famous frontman for the rock band, Ghosts of Fleas. In the eyes of the world he led a good existence, talented, successful, and spoiled. Nobody thought he could do such a thing, fling himself over the edge, even him. Not until the dark impulse.
The defendant on trial crosses the threshold into weighted proceedings. With a blooming change of mind, Ralph wonders if he will find a different sentence than what he first intended. His verdict awaits.
Excerpt
I climbed over the rail and stood at the edge with my back against the expanse. Rubbed the residue of vermillion paint from my palms, a gesture striking me as odd since I resolved to give up living. With a shrug, I glanced again at the rising spire and regretted not scaling one more concrete thing making for a more magnificent descent.
This was it. In the dramatic fashion fans expected of me, I fell backward in a staunch swan dive.
Except for the moment my heels unhitched from the steel, I’d made a mistake. Even the millisecond before, hands tingling after unhanding the icy railing, I knew.
I didn’t want to die. I needed to live. A slip-up now impossible to correct.
Midair, the first second shadowed my deep regret. The next taunted my changed mind. The third begged for mercy. And when I begged, it was to God—the one I had mocked.
This was it. In the dramatic fashion fans expected of me, I fell backward in a staunch swan dive.
Except for the moment my heels unhitched from the steel, I’d made a mistake. Even the millisecond before, hands tingling after unhanding the icy railing, I knew.
I didn’t want to die. I needed to live. A slip-up now impossible to correct.
Midair, the first second shadowed my deep regret. The next taunted my changed mind. The third begged for mercy. And when I begged, it was to God—the one I had mocked.