Sorry about not being able to indent on the story. For some reason when
I do it things get all messed up and no one is sure why.  So I had to
write the story like this.  Comments are welcomed and wanted, so e mail
me at Nerine1431@aol.com.  Thanks, Divia. 

Fran ripped off a piece of Italian bread and threw it into the pond.
She sighed, watching the ducks fight for their food. Her heart was not
into feeding the ducks; in fact, Fran did not have the heart to do many
things, lately.  Since Turnbull's departure she felt lonely and sad.
She seemed lost, unaware of what to do with herself or her feelings.

At times Fran felt angry with herself for not realizing sooner that
Turnbull
meant so much to her. She was blinded by her dreams of what could have
transpire between Fraser and herself. Fran was so determined to make
Fraser hers that she did not recognize the man Turnbull was, or the things
that could have happened between them. Fran was fully aware that it was
through her own folly which allowed Turnbull slip through her fingers.

However, there were some matters that were not solely her fault. True,
Fran should have realized how good Turnbull was for her, but he was also
to blame. Fran poured her heart out to Turnbull expressing her feelings;
however her sincere speech meant nothing to him and in the end he choose
duty to his country above his desires. Thus Turnbull left Fran standing
at the gate, feeling utterly humiliated, all eyes upon her. She remembered
thinking that the people around her must have known she had been rejected.

"Asshole!" She snapped, and threw the remaining bread into the water.
An elderly man turned to her, wondering if her outburst had been directed
towards him, but it was not. She muttered no apology for her disturbance
and walked away from the pond. Fran was cursing Turnbull, but suddenly
realized it was not him, but herself, who ruined things. 

"Nice going Frannie. You really screwed things up this time didn't you?"
She asked herself, as she walked through the park, her head lowered.
"Why do you always manage to fuck up your life? Your marriage ended in
divorce, that's against all church doctrine. You always manage to make
a mess of work. Welsh and Ray are always angry at you 'cause you do
something
wrong every time you work. You chase after a man who doesn't like you
and you let the one man who is nice to you go to Canada. "You are so
fuckin stupid!" 

As Fran belittled herself tears swelled up in her eyes. It suddenly
occurred
to her that she was more trouble then she was worth; and the only thing
Fran was good at was messing things up. No one loved her, and she did
not blame them.  Fran would not love a person like herself either.  

As Fran continued to walk through the park, she started to remember all
the problems she caused. Her father was right, she was stupid and
worthless.
Everyone else in her family had meaning in their lives, whether it was
by marriage or a job. Fran had nothing to show for her efforts save a
divorce, a meaningless job and the thing she longed for most seemed
unobtainable.
Fran wanted a family more then anything; yet, she failed at her first
marriage and spent too much time chasing after a man who did not want
her. The one man that admired her, she did not notice and now he was
gone forever. 

Unable to control her emotions anymore, Fran finally broke down; her
few scattered tears soon became a river running down her cheeks. Everyone
was right, there was nothing special about her. She was a pathetic
creature
and Fran realized she had to so something about it. 

****						   ****

Fran slammed her car door, and took a deep breath. She finally on decided
the best method of eradicating her problems. Boldly, she walked down
the dock, her shoes tapping against the wood as she moved forward. She
glanced around her, taking notice of her surroundings. Finally, in what
seemed to be a never-ending walk Fran came to the edge of the dock. She
gazed downward looking into the murky water. Fran made a face as she
saw the garbage and dead fish floating next to the dock. An odd smell
permeated the air; although Fran was a little unsure as to what the stench
was. 

For a moment she stood, unsure of her next move, although within her
heart knowing what had to be done. Fran took a deep breath to steady
herself, preparing for her next move.  Surprisingly, she found herself
quite calm and shaking very little. Perhaps this is how it was meant
to be. 

Finally, Fran crossed herself and believing there was no other way to
end the pain she was causing others or herself; she stepped off the dock
and into the merky water. 

Initially, Fran had to fight the urge to tread water and push herself
to the surface to take a breath. She floundered for a bit and then opened
her mouth to swallow the dirty water. The taste of the water was awful;
and as the liquid began to engulf her she started to question herself.
Was this the right thing to do?  Suddenly Fran started to fight. She
did not want to die a slow, agonizing death by suffocation.  She tried
to tread water in hopes of making it to the surface to take a breath.
Fran found, despite her efforts, that she was unable to muster up the
strength to fight for her life. There was no longer oxygen in her lungs
and she began to lose consciences.  Fran felt her body slowly drift
downward,
deeper into the lake's clutches despite her vain attempts to swim to
the surface.