Leonie could travel through time. Accompanied with only a rucksack and a spare pair of socks, she had been flirting with time for years, whimsically skipping across decades to suit whatever curiosity struck her at any particular moment.
She wasn’t careless though and throughout her travels, she had just one rule. Never interfere.
By the time she heard the woman’s scream, it was too late. His lifeless body, spreadeagled across the grey pavement, was already gathering a crowd.
‘Suicide,’ murmured the masses, glancing up at the roof.
Leonie looked down at the body and, in that second, decided that she would save this man’s life.
She set out to do just that; skipping across George’s, his name was George, timeline in the hunt for the catalyst which would result in his death.
If she understood the why, then she could prevent the when.
Three years of her life had passed. She had seen George’s birth, his first day of school and his first kiss. But still, the moment was elusive and, despite her search, she found nothing which would cause him to take his own life.
She became desperate. In a last-ditch attempt to alter the course of history, she travelled, once again, to the night of George’s death. Ten minutes before he was supposed to jump, she hurried into the bar.
In all her time here, she had never once followed him after he left the pub; seeing him die once was enough.
Like always, George was sitting in the corner, laughing with a group of friends; she glanced in his direction and hurried into the toilets. Holding back a sob, she began to write on the cubicle door.
As George returned to his seat, wiping his wet hands on the back of his jeans, he noticed a woman crying in the corner of the bar.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked.
Leonie looked up, tears streaming down her face.
‘You’ll be fine,’ George smiled. ‘Just tell me what’s wrong.’
Her words turned him pale.