The boy with dark brown hair–long, to his shoulders–stood bracing against the autumn wind. He wore a red coat, buttoned halfway to the top, dense, easily identifiable.
It didn't particularly matter if he was, however, because no one else happened to be about the side of a very precarious cliff. The wind was harsher, biting here, due to the altitude. The rocks sort of staggered the pressure a bit, but other than that, everything else was completely unreachable.
That was the appeal, after all. Something unattainable finally attained. Even of course if it were impossible to get back down to the living. He didn't care. There wasn't really a point anymore. Everyone had seemed to abandon him, forever lost in his thoughts.
Unappealing to many, that was the point.
YOU ARE READING
Silverfish
PoetryA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
