I stand on the edge of a cliff.
The wind is blowing hard. My jacket flaps, the loose sleeves snaping back and forth, a blue wave saluting the sixty foot fall down towards the Atlantic. The cliffs are bare, just layer upon layer of sedimentary rock alternating with limestone rocks. Grays and sivers and browns, with only a few juts for seabirds to perch.
A fall would definitely be a death plunge. So why do I stand at the edge? My feet are an inch away from dangling off. My heart is pounding hard. Keeping my vision from turning red is hard. I am dizzy. The world spins. The next gust could disorient me, and then I don't know if I could stop myself from going over.
I am not alone. There are dozens at the cliff's edge. Some stand a little farther back than me, but most do not. Some are sitting on the edge, their legs from the knee down pumping back and forth as if they are on a playground swing.
A loud whistle blows. It startles me and my reactions lurch my upper body forward. It is the park ranger warning us to get away from the cliff's edge. I see the stark cliff face by looking directly below me. I see a small rock jut twenty feet below. Maybe I wouldn't fall instantly into the ocean. Maybe that jut would catch me, and my body would land on that. Or maybe I would bounce off it and arc into a deeper part of the ocean. It wouldn't matter. Once I hit the jutting rock, I wouldn't know anything that happened after that.
The pull is irresistible. What's wrong with me? I'm not suicidal. I'm not a lemming. Why can't I stop thinking about going over the edge?
It takes everything I can muster to take one step back, to move away from the abyss. I hear my family calling out, "C'mon, Tom! Get away from there! You're scaring us!"
I look at the others who stay at the edge. Are they oblivious? Or do they hear the same siren call that I do?
Someone grabs my shoulder. I turn to see who it is. It's my wife. She hates the edge, but she has dared it to pull me back. My first look at her is puzzled. Why? Why are are you here? Why are you pulling me away from what is beckoning me?
The look of worry emanating from her shakes me from my stupor. I hug her fiercely and holding her, we move to the central pathway, away from the cliff's edge.
No one fell that day. At least, not while I was there. But when you operate at the cliff's edge, you never know who may fall away.
That was great, so much imagery!
ReplyDeleteThank you! On the Flash Fictions, I start with a sentence and just let me take to wherever it wants to go.
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