Edge Of The World

• Eliza Howard, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2016

When I was staring at the edge of the world I wasn't expecting to meet you. You floated over me with golden eyes of fixation, an aura of suspicion and a somewhat attractiveness to your twisted self. I was emotionally broken, and my soul just needed another to live off, until its home would get itself together.
My hands reached out for yours, as if one single touch of our skin would transfer my soul. My feet shuffled a little on the rocky edge of the cliff; the edge of the world, my world. Oh you were quite the tease, dancing about in mid air. You bounded about, without a care in the world. It's apparent you weren't aware of your actions. How could you not notice how your teasing would affect me is beyond my imagination. Oh how hands to hold are hard to find, and hearts are harder still.
Day after day, week after week, month after month I was consumed. First my vision, second my temptations and finally my whole self. I was completely fixated on reaching out to you, maybe I could take you out of the clouds, show you my ways and then you'd understand perhaps?
I reach out for you again, but you move away. A sad look replenished upon your face. Tell me, if we all die alone what the hell am I doing here? You stare at your feet, thoughts consuming your mind. You float mere centimetres from my face, like a mime it's as if there's a glass wall between us. You place your hand on the glass wall, I'd've given anything to touch your hand at that moment but I was scared. Scared of the fact that it could be a trap, and because I really hate being alone.
You curve your finger in a slow motion, signalling for me to come closer as if the glass wall is no longer there. So I move my hand towards you, just air, no glass. Nothing is separating us other than our minds. You float off the edge once again, curving your finger for me to come closer. The temptation kills my fragile self. Then I take a step in your direction. The rocks beneath my feet fall away, so does my conscience. The air violently hits my bare feet as I fall downward. I always wondered whether falling head first or feet first would hurt more, or which one would end you quicker and a little more painlessly. My hair waves around like the ocean as I look up, you're standing on the cliff and then you turn away without a single goodbye. I'm falling faster, t’s like the force has taken the air out of my lungs and the thoughts out of my mind.
My last thought is you, and then I hit the sharp, cold surface of the ocean. I am between fifty and sixty five percent water, meaning I can not be broken anymore than an ocean can.