The icy morning wind blew around his nose like a sweet promise. It wasn't like he had all the time in the world. But at that moment, everything seemed to stand still. The world had stopped spinning as he leaned on the bridge's railing and began plucking the blood-red petals from the blossom.
Not that he wasn't able to make that decision on his own. After all, he was past his thirties and well accustomed to making his mind up. But as always, when he felt alone and had no one by his side, he looked for a way to let fate answer the questions that plagued him.
He hadn't heard her approach. Her red dress glowed like a flame in the gray mist that surrounded them both, and her long dark hair that framed her slim face looked like a veil of a grieving widow.
"Nice here, isn't it?" Her voice sounded rough. The smell of cigarettes and whiskey surrounded her like a haze that didn't detract from her weathered beauty.
"Have you come to a decision yet?" He looked at her questioningly and frowned as he looked back at the flower in his hand. There weren't many leaves left.
She stepped closer and leaned against him. Her bare arm pressed coldly against his shoulder, and her skin, old and wrinkled, felt soft as silk against his.
The woman reached out, fingering the leaves tenderly like a lover as she smiled wearily.
"How many people have you helped today without asking for anything in return?" she asked, and the question irritated him. Confused, he thought and finally shrugged his shoulders. Then she plucked off a petal.
"When was the last time you made a sacrifice without asking for compensation?"
This question made him pause. He was still thinking when she plucked off another flower.
"When was the last time you shared your wealth without expecting anything in return?" At that question, she tapped his watch, which was obviously very expensive, with a fingernail before plucking off another petal.
"Now listen, darling," she said after a moment of silence, looking deep into his eyes. Hers were grey, like the fog that seemed to be getting thicker by the minute.
"I can understand that you're feeling miserable. And jumping off that bridge sure is very seductive. But the way I see it, you haven't done enough in your life to be allowed to go now. Your account is very full. At least in terms of money."
He took a deep breath and was about to say something back, but she just put the tip of her index finger to his lips and raised a thin eyebrow.
"You can't take all your gold to your grave. You are not a pharaoh. And until now, you leave nothing behind. Not even a loving memory people could cling to when you are gone."
He pressed his lips together and blinked a few times in wonder.
"So what you're going to do now is you're going to get off that bridge, go home and live your life. And while you're doing that, you'll always keep one thing in mind: Karma is what you make of your life. You can't expect karma if you don't do anything for it."
He had just heard the words she said audibly when she took the flower with the last leaf out of his hand, turned on her heel, and slowly walked away. The echo of her heels sounded through the dense fog as she slowly disappeared into the deep gray. She left nothing behind but the smell of whiskey and cigarettes.