The Cliff

A story I wrote long ago.

I drive up to the edge of the cliff, wondering if it’s even worth it or if I should just turn around and go home. I get out, walk to the very edge, and peer over. It’s a long way down, maybe 20 feet. It would definitely kill me. I take a breath and lay down with my head not but one inch from the edge. As I lay there, looking up at the great expanse of stars, memories come flooding in from all directions; memories of happiness and sadness, of joy and pain. The images start dancing in front of me, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Soon the sounds, the smells, the emotions come crashing in, creating a whirlwind of beautiful chaos. I close my eyes and the sensation intensifies; fantasies start melding with realities to where they become indistinguishable. I see all that I have ever hoped for come to fruition, and every pain I have ever experienced fades into the background. I know this can’t be real, but everything I see, all that I feel, makes me long to keep these new memories around. Then a flash of lightning comes cutting across this paradise, and I’m left in suffocating darkness, in this screaming silence that has become my life. I feel the rain start to fall lightly on my skin, and I open my eyes to the darkened clouds that have fallen. I sit up, and begin to realise what has to be done, what the only thing left to do is. I walk back to the edge and peer over. Smiling, I close my eyes, and simply release myself to the void, awaiting the new flood of memories to arrive.