A dull silence echoed around the dreary lane. Overhead, the bright colours of autumn had long since blended away into the dark monotonous greys of a winter's sky. The lane should not have been noiseless in the early evening. However, the silence seemed to speak for itself. Gloom descended on the empty, blank faced houses and their dreary surroundings as a small, hunched- up figure dressed in black, turned the corner and trudged into the lonely street. His footsteps rebounded loudly around the small concrete street. The boy moved steadily along the lane, a blank expression etched on his face. Inside, this boy wasn't really there. For weeks he had continued his life; done his homework, eaten his meals, conversed with friends and family but nobody noticed that he wasn't really there. He contributed nothing of himself to conversations or classes or mealtimes. He didn't laugh or smile anymore. He avoided physical contact and kept his feelings and emotions to himself and nobody noticed. He didn't mind any of this because he knew that it would all end soon. He continued his journey out of the lane and turned left, keeping his pace. He had realised long ago how little his life meant, how little anything meant and had decided that it was pointless going on. He had waited for the right Moment and had continued to pretend to live normally. His life drifted on and he drifted deeper into depression. He somehow knew the Moment had come. Earlier that day he was walking home from school when he felt a pang of cold, a dry empty coldness. He felt somewhere inside that today was the day. He crossed the bridge over the river. There was no light except from the lone streetlight. He continued straight until he reached the next bridge, the one over the railway track. He paused and gazed blankly over the edge. It was a long way down but he wanted that. A hard fall, a quick death. He'd prepared himself for this and planned it carefully. He stepped back and thought for a Moment, what would life be like without him? His parents would hardly notice. He was their forgotten son, the youngest of four, any accomplishments eclipsed by older siblings. He would be one less to worry about. His friends would survive. He had never built up any strong bonds and could be forgotten easily enough. They would arrive at the funeral, get off school and live on. Fifteen years alive and not one meaningful thing accomplished. This is why he had to end it. He climbed up onto the ledge. A cold wind blew it and it seemed to get darker. He took one last look around. The blank houses and empty streets all stared back at him. He looked down again. The tracks seemed almost tempting. He put one foot into open space and then let himself go. What had he done? A surge of regret raced through him. He sprawled out his limbs but found no grip. "I don't want this," he thought. "I didn't mean to do this", he screamed. It rang out through the streets but no one heard. I heard my own scream but did not hear the thud as I struck the railway below.