"Will you sing for me?"
The stranger is kind. The stranger is good. So I sing.
My anguish, and my heartache. My agony and my pain. Broken vocal chords turn into broken sounds. Broken people turn into broken friends.
My eyes drift shut, but, for once, I'm not in another world when I sing. I'm right here. And I sing for the both of us.
Her pain is my tune. My injury, her melody.
A problem shared is by no means halved, but the singing? It shifts my world. Just the tiniest fraction better. I'm an inch farther from the ledge.
I sing until it's a croak, until my water is under the bridge and the river has run dry. I'll get most of it back at the next rain, but, maybe it won't be as bad next time. Maybe.
My eyes open, and she is smiling at me. And tears run down her face. And she's on the edge.
And I scream.
And she turns.
And she-
A n d s h e —
Jumps.
I run to the edge, and all I can think is I changed my mind
All I can think is I'm not okay
The next rain? The next rain will be twice as strong, the burden twice as heavy. Her riverbed will be filled with rusted gates and unfinished conversations. Her riverbed is salty and polite and interrupting the sad part of a movie halfway through and then never finishing it. I will carry her rain, and I've never been more afraid of flooding.
Her death-
She's dead now-
Is the last sunset.
The final hug of childhood.
My singing was the almost the last thing she'd ever heard.
My screaming was the real last.
I wish I could scream now.
But I can't move.
My arms are wrapped in twine, my heart cemented in the same thunderous pace.
My neck is forever tilted at her resting place.
Watching her not move.
Watching her red tears spattered on the rock dry.
Watching darkness fall, and the clock move forward forever.
Forever.
Forever is a long time.
I wonder if time gets lonely sometimes.
YOU ARE READING
The Cliffs
Short StoryA very short story. TW: suicide, intense negative emotions, grief Disclaimer: I do not own the picture on the cover. All credit goes to its rightful owner.
