The Bridge
It's a crisp November evening when the bus drops you off after a hard days' work. All you need to do at this point is make the trek over the towering DuPoint Memorial Bridge and you'll be at your front doorstep.
Before you're half-way across the bridge, you spot the faint outline of a person. They appear to be standing on the outer edge of the guard rail. The reality hits you like a slap to the face: Could this person be a jumper? Instantly, an anxiousness the likes of which you've never felt before grips you in your chest. Your throat tightens. This person looks like they are ready to commit suicide. One swift leap is all that stands between them and certain death. What do you do?
Before you're half-way across the bridge, you spot the faint outline of a person. They appear to be standing on the outer edge of the guard rail. The reality hits you like a slap to the face: Could this person be a jumper? Instantly, an anxiousness the likes of which you've never felt before grips you in your chest. Your throat tightens. This person looks like they are ready to commit suicide. One swift leap is all that stands between them and certain death. What do you do?