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He walked slowly along the edge of the magnificent structure. Martin had always loved Bristol. His parents used to take Caitlin, Simon and himself to Bristol when he was younger, back when his father was alive. They would camp out in a caravan and look at the stars at night while sat around a warm fire that flicked oranges, yellows and reds. His father would point out the stars to him, tell him which ones where which. Martin never paid attention at the time, but as he looked over the barrier of the Clifton suspension bridge he wish he had.
The stars where the same as those nights when he was happier. Caitlin and Simon didn't think of him as a failure back then. He was just 'little Martin' who would grow up and be as clever as they were. Although as Martin grew up he quickly realised he would never be good enough to his siblings. They would always find fault in anything Martin would do. A memory had always stuck of Caitlin telling him that he would never find a girl, she had prodded his stomach and laughed. Martin refused to eat for four days before his mother had tried to take him to the doctors and he agreed to eat a banana. He had only finished half of it, throwing the rest away. Feeling worse about himself for not even being able to finish a task efficiently.
The cold winter air brushed past Martin's flushed cheeks. A warm smoky breath left the man's lips as he flexed his fingers upon the harsh metal railing that separated Martin from a long fall and a body full of water. Was he weak for wanting to hop over the barrier and stop his failure. Others would be happy, they wouldn't have to deal with his failure, his debt. It had already taken Martin six attempts to pass his CPL, and tomorrow he would get the results for the seventh. He just didn't have enough money to retake the test again. He made a vow the morning of the exam, if he failed he would jump. He would take his life, and this time he wouldn't fail. The scars that covered his arms were a constant reminder that he failed. He couldn't even die properly. It made him feel useless, just like how his father had told him. Martin was still bitter over his father's death. He had died two months before and had left him his old, broken down van.
The van was in better working order than Martin was.
The man who stood upon Clifton suspension bridge that night was not one who you would think of as an airline captain. He was a frail figure. Too thin. Too pale. A man who was barely holding onto the world. Tears trailed over his crimson cheeks. He was fed up with his own failure. He didn't want to go on, knowing he would never amount to anything. It took all of Martin's strength to walk away from the barrier.
Thin legs carried him 100 meters until he saw the sign. The Samaritans plaque glaring at him. He felt as though he could be read like a book. He wasn't strong. People knew. They knew, and they didn't even think about helping. Martin lifted his long pale fingers to the plaque and fingered at the letters and numbers, he had asked for their help once. He was ignored. Nobody wanted him around. That night he had needed to talk, he had taken a bottle of pills and woke up the next morning with a bad stomach, vomit over his pillows and a head that felt like a train had ran over it. He spent the day under the comfort of his covers, carving the word 'failure' into porcelain skin. It was a beautiful mix of red and white. Martin had never felt any better than when he laid in his own vomit and blood.
He found himself at the barrier again. He looked down towards the black abyss of water. He may not be able to see it but he knew it was a mere 75 feet drop. It was enough to kill him on impact. Oh how he craved it. He sighed, turned and walked back to his van. He would receive his results through a text message in the morning. If they were bad he knew what he was going to do. And nothing was going to stop him.
~
When Martin woke in the morning his face was covered in tears, and for once in his life, he felt he had accomplished something.