Before It Was Too Late
Edward sat on the bench by the bus stop, watching cars crawl along the rain-slicked road. The bitter March wind crept under his thin jacket, but he scarcely felt the chill. He was waiting. For what? He couldn’t say. Perhaps a sign, or an answer to the question gnawing at him: *What now?*
Life had become a scratched record, stuck in the same dull refrain. The office job made him sick to his stomach; his flat echoed with emptiness, and the dreams that once burned like bonfire sparks had dimmed to distant embers. Each day was a carbon copy of the last, and waking up grew harder with every dawn.
He pulled out his phone, mindlessly scrolling through the news. A message from his mother blinked in the corner: “How are you, love? Haven’t heard from you in ages.” Edward didn’t reply. What could he say? That everything was falling apart? That he didn’t even understand why he was wasting his life in this grey monotony?
A bus rolled up, but Edward didn’t move. Why bother when inside he felt as hollow as an abandoned house?
“Oi, mate, got the time?” came a rough voice.
Edward looked up. A man in his mid-twenties stood before him, wearing a scuffed jacket and a heavy rucksack slung over his shoulder. His face was weary, but his eyes held a spark.
“Ten to eleven,” Edward muttered, glancing at his watch.
“Cheers. Name’s Alfie,” the stranger said, offering a hand.
Edward shook it reluctantly, giving no name in return.
“What’re you doing out here alone?” Alfie asked, settling beside him.
“Thinking.”
“‘Bout what?”
Edward gave a bitter laugh.
“How to escape this bloody rut.”
Alfie dropped his bag and studied him with sharp interest.
“Know the feeling. Was stuck in the same hole not long ago. Know what I realised?”
“What?”
“If you can’t find meaning—make your own. I quit my job, packed my bag, and just went. Today here, tomorrow somewhere else. Living on my own terms.”
“Did it help?”
Alfie nodded, certainty flashing in his eyes.
“Now it’s my life—not just days to slog through.”
Edward stayed silent. Something inside him twisted painfully, like his heart remembering how to beat.
They talked till midnight, huddled on the cold bench. Alfie told him of walking away from his desk, of the fear that nearly paralysed him—until the thought of a life choked with regret grew even more terrifying.
“Don’t want to die wondering *what if*,” he said. “You could do it too. Just take the step.”
Edward watched him, and for the first time in years, hope flickered in his chest—fragile, but alive.
“Maybe…” he whispered.
When they parted, Edward wandered home, his thoughts churning like a river after the thaw. He knew this much: if he didn’t change now, he’d be trapped in this void forever.
At home, he slumped at his desk, laptop open, searching train tickets to anywhere. Just to escape. His finger hovered over *Buy Now*. His heart hammered as if trying to break free.
“Go on,” he rasped.
And clicked.
The next day, Edward sat on the train, watching the flicker of passing lights. He’d chosen a small seaside town—not too far, but strange enough to breathe new air. His pocket held a small sum, scraped together over months. He knew he wouldn’t last long without work.
That first day, he took a bunk in a hostel. He wandered narrow lanes, poked into cafés and shops, asking if they needed help. By evening, tired but not defeated, he spotted a notice in a window: *Help wanted—boat repair workshop. No experience needed.*
“Looking for someone?” he asked the bearded owner.
“Aye,” the man eyed him. “Know anything about boats?”
“Never tried—but I’ll learn quick.”
The next morning, Edward started work. At first, it was clumsy—his hands fumbled, the tools felt alien. But with each day, he felt himself waking up. For the first time in years, he rose with the sense that ahead lay not just another day, but something real.
His life didn’t change overnight. But he’d done the essential thing—stepped into the unknown. And that was enough to make the world turn toward him.
