Bohemia Village Voice

The Desperate Man

Desperate, his mind confused and in turmoil, the man decided to end it all. He had been wheelchair-bound for thirty years suffering with multiple sclerosis.
Thirty years of being helpless and dependent on others just to survive, just to get through each and every day and with no prospect of any improvement or ever being able to walk again. He was beyond that and knew it.
He lived not far from Beachy Head, a focal point for those in deep despair. And so, like those before him and with all the wheelchair control lights aglow he started on his last journey.
People he passed thought little of the man driving along the road in his wheelchair giving him only the briefest of glances as, more intent on their own business, they went on their way.
His journey took him along pavements, up and down kerbs, across roads, up hills until eventually, by late afternoon he arrived on the road overlooking Beachy Head. But now he found himself confronted by a high bank that edged along the wide grassy cliff-top.
Cars tooted and gave him a wide berth as he drove along seeking a low section of the bank. Finally two Good Samaritans in the shape of two ramblers offered their help to get him up onto the grass. He muttered his thanks and asked them to be careful as together they pushed and pulled him up the last foot of the bank. When his wheelchair stood on the grass he nodded his gratitude and they turned and left.
He put the wheelchair’s controls into forward and headed for the cliff-edge. Manoeuvering the wheelchair without any sense of true direction as he bumped and jolted over the rutted and uneven ground and long grass. Finally he managed to bring the wheelchair close to the cliff-edge. There he paused to look out at the world he was about to leave.
To the west, the late afternoon sun gave off a fiery red-orange glow as it sank low in the sky to now almost touch the horizon. In the far distance, out to sea, he saw white-sailed yachts sailing serenely up and down the channel. Seagulls swooped and glided effortlessly in the thermals sweeping up the cliff face. Briefly, he was tempted to turn around, to go back home, but then he wondered, home to what?
He pushed the forward control on the wheelchair and, closing his eyes, prepared himself for the long fall.
The wheelchair lurched forward then stopped inches from the cliff edge. He pushed the forward control again. Nothing.
He looked down at the controls. All the lights were out. His head sunk onto his chest.
“Damn! I should have charged the bloody battery.”