The Call Of The Golden Gate
by Daniel Powell
I am an old man. In that way I suppose I do represent a miracle. Most who survive the jump die within five years-not from suicide, but from complications of their injuries.
There have been forty-six of us since the bridge was finished in 1937. I used to wonder if the others saw anything in the depths of that frigid water. Now I know the truth.
There was a man-a scholar-who claimed to have identified the monstrous creature. His credentials to make such a claim were, by his own admission, questionable. Still . . . a significant part of me believes him. What are my alternatives? I saw the thing.
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