Story Cubes 10: Parachute

Trevor stood on the bridge, staring down at the rapid water, and tempted, for the hundredth time it seemed, to jump. A beetle was crawling along the edge, and he kicked it over with his boot. He smiled as it tumbled down, but then his face went blank. "I'm a chicken," he thought. "I'd wish for a parachute the second I stepped off." The gurgling of the water reminded him of the ridiculous little fountain in the backyard of his house -- his former house, the one that caught fire, consuming his dog, his cat, and him photographs. His life's work. All that was left was ashes and that damn, mocking fountain. "Where's my rainbow?" he whispered, thinking of the picture on the saccharine Hallmark card his ex-wife had sent him. At least he still had his Nikon. He aimed the camera at his feet, with the toes of his boots peeking over the edge at the current below. "Decision," he said to himself. "A nice, ambiguous title."

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(The bold-faced words are interpreted from the images on Rory's Story Cubes)