Harry was a Christian with a capital ‘C’ and he believed his calling was to tour the town stopping people taking their own lives. He calculated he saved on average two a day – more at weekends.
Railway lines and riverbanks were excellent places to patrol.
This day he saw a man – elderly, a bit dishevelled, and most importantly, alone – staring into the grey waters. Harry imagined, for the elderly man had his back to him, his eyes were staring incomprehensively across the river.
Harry learned his trade from Samaritans posters: whenever you spot a likely candidate you went up and said, ‘Hi, where can I get a coffee?’ Harry had not noticed the hotel, pub or the burger bar on the opposite bank.
The elderly man took out his earbuds and surveyed the small, effete man with slicked down hair who stood grinning inanely at him. He hated queers and he wasn’t going to let one try to pick him up in broad daylight. ‘I’m waiting for a train,’ he snapped and thrust the buds back in, turning his back on Harry.
True Christians are not easily put off. ‘Do you mind if I stand here?’ Harry leaned against the railing, his hip almost touching the elderly man, who determinedly stepped to one side. ‘Remember whatever you’re facing, you are not alone. I’m here to listen.’
‘Piss off,’ the elderly man shoved Harry to the ground and crossed the road into the station to catch his train home to Liverpool.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 