That Night

• Dominic Bianchi, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2018

Her twilight eyes shone with a spectacular glistening brightness. The stars elected in her eyes dotted her sparkling irises as if the heavens were in her eyes. Avery looked up at that endless sea with countess sailing ships that was the night sky that night. It raced to the horizon where it gleefully met the ocean until they merged into one single entity, beautifully reflected in itself. It was the kind of scenery you only really expected to see in a movie. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and then ran them through his hair, a nervous tick he frequented. The biting wind scratched at his naked torso. It carried his hair away from his face, keeping it completely unobstructed that night. He turned and grinned sheepishly at his companion; A young girl of his age of exquisite beauty. She turned to meet his eyes and her lifts curled up in the faintest smile, and yet there was more warmth in that smile than a million suns. Suddenly he felt brave enough to do anything. They stood atop a lonesome peak which jutted over the raging ocean below them. The moon was so bright that night he was practically blinded by it. It hung huge and directly before them, as if it was encouraging the night along. He could make out every single detail of that moment and even the pleasing smell of a burning campfire somewhere nearby. She reached out her hand for his, and beckoned him slightly with her shoulder. That movement would have convinced him to follow her to the darkest pits of hell. He reached for her hand and took it.
“One.” Her voice hit his ears like the sound of an orchestra.
“Two.” She squeezed his hand just the slightest bit.
“Three.” She smiled. She lunged forward over the edge of the cliff and he went right behind her. They hit the air and their hands lost each other. The wind buffeted him from below and whipped at his shorts. He fell towards the water, arms swinging like a wailing madman. He hit the water. It washed over him as he became swallowed by icy jaws. But for some reason he wasn’t cold. He wasn’t anything. He was numb. And suddenly that terror soaked through him so much more deeply than the water. He wanted to scream but knew he couldn’t. Eyes bulging, he grasped towards the surface literally like a drowning man reaches for straw. Slowly he dragged himself to the surface and he hammered through to the air, and then the cold clutched itself around his head. But that was ok; because the cold and pain was so much better than that endless numbness. He gasped for breath like a yawning man and looked around for his friend, but he didn’t see her. He ducked back under for a minute but couldn’t find her. Resurfacing, his racing thoughts screamed, wondering where she’d gone that night.