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Looking out the window, the outside world appeared sullen. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, hiding the last glimmer of sunlight that evening. The ocean lapped lazily at the shore like a mother rubbing her child’s back. The otherwise glimmering sand took on a dull, brown hue. The whole day had been dreary.

Dressed all in black, carrying no means of identification, Vaughn drove toward his destination. Parking off the side of the road, he walked a quarter mile to the old, desolate bridge. He climbed up on the steel beams looking down at the dark, rushing water. Without her, he felt like an empty bottle of booze, tossed aside and forgotten. All the money and material possessions he’d acquired during his rise to fame meant nothing. Their confrontation the night before had torn his heart into tiny pieces.

Vaughn spread his arms high and wide as if preparing to fly. He tilted his head back, inhaling the humid, late night air. The dampness filled his lungs. Just as he was about to lean forward and plummet into the river, a strong wind pushed him back.

Vaughn landed bottom first. His body continued until his skull hit the pavement. Temporarily knocked unconscious, his limbs remained lifeless.