The Bridge to Nevsky Prospect
(Writing and New Technologies Exercise Week 7)
This day was not particularly cool – even for that time of year. The heat lurching up from the pavement only reflected more by the sun’s incessant rays. Every where there is concrete and bricks and mortar. Nature has been progressively replaced and you feel trapped in this God forsaken city. The Canal today is particularly rank. Its slow moving water peppered with flotsam from people upstream who cared not to dispose of their refuse on the street. You were told yesterday that young girl tried to kill herself there. She jumped into the fetid slow moving tributary and no one swam to her aid. If it wasn’t for that police officer – visiting his mistress in Nevsky prospect – that he wouldn’t have chanced upon her splashing. Why did she just not put her head under and drown herself quickly, effectively and without fuss or botherment. You think maybe she changed her mind mid jump, as her dress parachuted out. Or perhaps it was the refreshing, though, squalid water, seeping though her fine lace corset that made her feel alive once again.
You saw this whole scene unfold in the corner of your eye walking up to cross Kazansky Bridge. She was a little dollop of cream on the corner of the plate then, she vanished into the water. You gave a shout which ultimately attracted the attention of the Policeman Utyosov who came running. Surprisingly it didn’t take long for him to remove all his clothes before diving in to save the girl; in fact it was like as if he was already half disrobed, making the whole scene look like a melodramatic play unfolding by corny street actors. The girl was making far too much noise for someone that had the intention of self destruction. Utyosov was a not a tall man nor was he particularly short. He was of portly proportions though, looking like he had been stuffed into his cloths, the fabric around his buttons pulled tight into triangles of tension. A fat stocky man undressing whilst running, saving some dollop of cream in the river turned out for you anyway – a comical affair. But you were not the only one that found the scene unfolding comical. There was a man in the bridge too. A tall man but of meagre build. He wore threadbare clothes and had a general miserly appearance about him. He laughed sardonically with a hiss from his a broken tooth. You both noticed each others sense of humour, caught eye, then shuffled away in both directions, embarrassed.
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