The edge ©

How humiliating!  She ran through the college canteen breaking through bursts of laughter, pushing the pointing fingers as her hair trailed behind, clung to ridicule in the aftermath.  How could she have been so stupid!  How could she possibly have thought that she was ever worthy?

Her closest most trusted friends had manipulated the scene like a tragic Shakespearean comedy: she was the protagonist fool in a robbery of self worth and respect, set on a stage of public humiliation in front of the Prince of dreams.  She threw open the doors which clashed against their buffers bringing a dramatic climax to her exit, but the audience continued to show their appreciation and call for an encore by laughing.

Her only chance now was to run, run as far as she could, escape, keep going until the memories were so far in the distance they could not be seen.  Go such a long way that even she would change, a metamorphosis through which none would recognise the swan that would emerge, and all would bow in humble acceptance of their own true significance.

But first – Run!  She must run, her clumsy steps reaching the borders of the college, her gasping breaths carrying her forwards, along the street, towards the end and a new beginning.  Her ungainly gait began to kick at dust which roughed to sand; exhausted, she stumbled along the coast, but she could see her goal; onward, she made for it, panting like rabid creature clutching to life, on and on towards the edge, of reason, of time, of space, until finally, she stood towered over the edge, the final frontier, alone, gasping, distraught, her hands reached to the heavens and she sobbed.

She collapsed on the wooden planks, the tide swirling around her, gentle waves lapping at the supporting struts.  There was nowhere left to run.  She tasted the water produced by her dilemma and compared it to the aroma she breathed from the salt water, an endless barrier that now held her in place on the pier, not by force, but through fear and reason.  Here on the edge, she sat on the thin line where two became one. Was she melting?  Could she melt, so as not to face the past by returning to existence, instead become a part of a whole of unquestionable significant fathoms?  She stared into the giant murky looking glass in search of an answer, but met only with a shadowy blurred reflection.

Suddenly, a loud burst of sound pelted out a shower of saline that hailed down upon the decking, landing on her with a stinging sensation, soaking her clothes.  A large dark shadow rose through the fluctuating surface and an eye, peered at Isabella knowingly.

Shocked, she sat stunned, numb to emotion and cold.  The monstrous shape disappeared momentarily, only to rise again and blow more storm into the air. Isabella sat up, watching the eye follow her, but feeling the empathy within.  She noted the scars, horrific, that stretched more than a metre down the face to the corner of the mouth: healed crevices deep enough to fit your fist into.  “You poor creature; what traumas must haunt you from your past”.

Isabella sat on the threshold, the thin dividing line from fear to excitement, realising that this was the single most important and significant event that had ever happened to her.  Alone, she felt unity and belonging; afraid, she had found strength and reason.  Tempted, she lazily stretched out a hand.

The watery eye gazed dreamily, closed, and the body rolled.  It was as though nothing had happened.  Isabella, slightly disappointed, thought she was back in her reality, as if on the edge she had been in some parallel.  But now, everything seemed different.  She felt different.  Had she dreamt it?  Had that really just happened?  She flashed from belief, to disbelief, exhilaration, to disappointment, understanding, to confusion.

Just as self doubt began to heavy her heart, eerie sounds from the deep echoed gently followed by two burst of sound that completely showered all, in and on the edge.  And Isabella saw.  The scarred face lay gently next to the young calf, a pup, with bright sharp eyes and boisterous movements.  Isabella laughed and cried.

 

©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

https://abeliamayblog.wordpress.com/2017/10/31/the-edge/

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