Cliffhanger

• Olivia Morgan, Grade 8, Lavalla Catholic College - St Paul's Campus
• Short Story
• 2011

3rd in the 'Timeless Tales 2011' competition

The weatherbeaten shack swung alarmingly, wood protesting against the strong eastern wind that threatened to topple it off the cliff into the raging seas below. The shack wasn't worried. It had weathered far worse storms than this. The overgrown grass that crept up the walls and the dust collected on the windowpanes proved this.

Lightening crackled across the sky, lighting up the landscape and illuminating a dark, solitary figure striding along the weathered cliffs. His shape seemed to flicker slightly, and he walked with a jerky, uneven step. The newcomer stopped a few metres back from the door, as if to admire the peeling paintwork and rusty handle. Apparently satisfied, he peered over his shoulder, eyes piercing the dark for a moment, before marching up to the door and delivering a solid kick to the centre. With a groan, the door slowly fell in on itself, landing with a muffled thump onto the floor. Dust rose in clouds around it. The man stepped over it, boots making no noise on the hardwood floors.

He looked up, pushing the hood of his jacket back, sharp features illuminated by the lightening that flashed across the sky. The room was sparsely furnished, with an old rocking chair tucked in the corner and a fireplace against the southern wall. Shrugging off his jacket, the man knelt by the grate, rummaging around in his pocket. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled some kindling out of his bag and arranged it expertly. Clicking open his lighter, he coaxed the flames into life.

As the flames crackled and soot rose in clouds, the man exhaled and began rummaging through his bag again. Pulling out a crumpled piece of paper and a pen, he appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before hastily scribbling a note. Striding over to the rocking chair, he placed it gently on the worn seat before picking up his belongings and striding back to the broken door. He hesitated just a moment, face twisted in a mix of emotions, before straightening his shoulders and marching out into the cold night air.

Well, that was a waste of time, thought the shack contemptuously. The thunder continued to rumble around the cliffs as the nameless man looked down into the depths of the sea, and then, quite suddenly, threw himself off the edge of the cliff to go spinning like a rag doll through the air.

The shack resumed its moaning and creaking, ignoring the scene that had been played out before it. It was nothing new. That man had come every night over the past year, to write that same note and throw himself off the cliffs once more. The shack supposed he'd simply keep doing it until the end of time. Eternal life was not something you took for granted, the shack did know that much.

The flames, still burning merrily, flickered and died as the man landed with a muffled splash onto the rocks below.