Edge

• Isabel Pereira, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2020

You knew it had always been high up. The fence wasn’t all that high, like the bridge itself, which made the bridge seem higher. The fence was old, rusted, it seemed as though it had been there for over a century. If you were to walk over the bridge you would be surrounded. Not only by the fence, but by the feeling. The feeling of being so high up above the shallow, slow and demanding river. The river demanded to be seen by everyone who went up to the bridge. If you were to look down at the river you would also see the trees. The trees were inviting and familiar. The grey and green of their leaves would be soft to the touch and you’d feel like you could walk around the same tree forever and would always find something new and comforting about it. No comfort lasts long. If you look too closely at the river while also sensing the comfort of the tress, you would fall. Fall off the edge. Fall to the end.

Falling from the bridge, that had always been so high, would take away the comfort. The comfort that had been given to you by the trees that beckoned you and by the feeling of purpose that entered your mind when you followed the rivers demands. You would fall past the rocks that stood proud on the edge of the shore. Rocks are always proud, especially when they watch others less sturdy than them fall. If rocks are feeling the pride of watching you fall, then what are you feeling? What were you feeling on the edge of that bridge that is already so far away? Nothing will be felt as the wind in your ears is rushing and loud. It will be everything you hear until you reach the river. The river is shallow.

After you pass the wind and the rocks there will be nothing left for you. Nothing except the pain that comes when something important ends. It will be like watching the end of your favourite movie over and over knowing that it won’t ever change, you can do nothing to change it and its always going to be the same no matter how many times you rewind. Falling to your death is like that, except it hurts more. The rocks will continue to stand long after you’re gone. Proud, always proud.

But you can refuse the river. You can step away from the edge. You can continue to cross the bridge until you find comfort. Because it will be there. Comfort will come to you and you won’t fall anywhere anymore. Step back, face forward, take the step. The river will continue to try, will continue to beckon you closer and closer. You do not have to listen. When it is ignored the river will be angry, but that won’t affect you any more.

The rocks are standing still. Standing full of pride. But you won’t let them see you fall.