The light of a single passing car floods the spindly road with yellow light. A single figure stumbles drunkenly on the shoulder. He walks with his head down, his shoulders slumped, glad he doesn't have to pretend the he's not broken as he shuffles his way to the bridge. The bridge is a mile and a half from the mansion. He can't stand to be around the laughter and the noise anymore, won't wait around for them to see the widening cracks in his mask. It drives him away, drives him to the bridge.

He turns down a slightly worn footpath, unsee-able in the dark, but he has this trek memorized. A little ways down is the small foot bridge, probably only 10 feet long and a foot wide. He looks between the wide spaces of the wooden planks, looks down to the thin stream of water. He stands there, looking over the railing to the reflective black surface, like ink, not seeing the brooding stone man, not realizing that he is not the only one who finds relief in this desolate spot.

He leans his arms against the rotting wood railing and stares at the almost bare riverbed, just a tiny trickle, no deeper than a foot and no wider than a couple. Big slabs of rock pole lik spikes through the ground.

The knots he constantly feels in his chest, the ones that seem like they are constantly around hi neck, ready to jerk tight and break him, start to unravel, and though he tries to hold it back, a strangled sob escapes his lips. This is why he comes to the bridge. Where Logan can't smell him and no one else can hear him. The pain that builds up in the day can't be held back forever, and he's smart enough to recognize that he will drown in it if he doesn't give it a way out. He doesn't try to suppress his tears, there is no one to hide them from here. He just lets them fall into the darkness. After nearly twenty minutes, his breating is merely ragged and his cheeks are wet. He doesn't think anything through his hazy mind as he hoists himself up onto the thin, unstable railing. But he does think about just taking one step, and how quick it would be, almost like flying. The stone man isn't stone anymore and his white downy wings twitch, but the other man doesn't see it, doesn't know that the winged man's breath has caught in his throat, to witness something so emotionally raw as someone really to throw it all away, whether he likes this person or not.

The other man sways forward, as though the ground below were a magnet, drawing him into loving arms. Wings begin to fold open. Even if he doesn't like this man, this isn't something he wants to see.

Whether it is a soft wind produced by unfolding wings, he doesn't know, but the man stumbles backwards, off the railing, as though shaken from a trance. "Another Day", he says aloud, not realizing that he has been heard before he walks back to the mansion.

Just something I felt like writing, have to get back into the swing of things!