It was one of those ceaselessly rainy days, where the constant downpour gave the grey and wet day an eternal presence. There was no escaping it. When you managed to avoid the rain in a building, the sound seemed to grow louder to compensate. When you managed to escape the sound of rain, there were the hordes of people that were always talking about the rain or shaking their wet coats or umbrellas. "It's non-stop!", "British summer through and through", "Lucky I bought a strong umbrella yesterday". And on it went. Age, sex or race made no difference; everyone partook in the usual phenomenon. Victoria street was a mass of fast, bobbing umbrellas that jostled for dominance. Some rose with power and floated above others. Some managed quick and nimble dives and swerves that managed to avoid contact with other, and some with their sheer size bulldozed their way through the others. Not only did the umbrellas seem to possess a character of themselves, but their size and colour gave clues as to their owners. There were the large black ones with corporate logos on, that were carried by people in suits. These struck a great contrast with the small flimsy ones that boasted various colourful designs, hastily bought by tourists or day-trippers. Most of these umbrellas were crowded around the Parliament Square end of Victoria Street, occasionally venturing down Victoria Street, only to hesitate and turn back as all they saw were grey offices after grey offices.
All this was observed by Simon sitting in a coffee house on Victoria Street. Usually the weather would have affected him, especially the mild depression he experienced on days like this. Today, however, he was too busy with his thoughts to be influenced. He sat sipping his coffee with his hand and chin resting on the crooked handle of his umbrella (a large green one). He enjoyed the novelty of the various poses he could perform with his umbrella. Walking up to the counter to buy his third coffee he tapped his umbrella on the floor, every other step, with an imperial and aloof air. Walking back he tried the nonchalant swing of the umbrella on his hand. He liked them both, for they helped give him a look of purpose, even though at this precise time of his life it was purpose that he was decidedly lacking. It was empty examples of appearances, such as his umbrella, that fuelled his obsession with his image. As a vain man he believed that this peculiarity of his was a habit that not only pleased him, but pleased others too. Believing that his appearance was a pleasure for others, he was allowed to indulge in his arrogance and thoughts of superiority over others. It was a concession that others should make for the effort that he makes, and he truly believed with a steadfast conviction that this was a perfectly fair relationship with the other.
This feeling was never conveyed to anyone. He was a friendly and considerate individual that never acted with superiority and treated everyone with respect. There was always a fued within with this natural respect for others and his snobbery. It was not only his fierce education that propelled his arrogance, but also the devotion and attention he received from friends and family from a young boy up to now. All this cultivated his egocentric outlook to an extent that he felt everyone was comfortable with. But that didn't stop his conflict within. It felt incongruous. All these thoughts that shot through his head were well rehearsed and swiftly assessed, and coming to no conclusion he felt tired, letting the thoughts pass away.
"These thoughts are of no consequence anyway" he whispered to himself. He liked repeating words to himself. The voice he gave to his thoughts reinforced their meaning, bolstering their purpose, as his umbrella bolstered his purpose. "For tonight I'm going to kill myself....Yes, tonight I'm going to kill myself". He left the coffee house in the direction of Victoria train station, gripping his umbrella handle extremely tightly. There was only one way he interpreted the present function of his umbrella. That of preparation of death.
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