The wind howls. I sit at the window, watching with wide eyes. The trees are lashing back and forth, nearly touching the ground in the strength of the gale. The rain hasn’t hit yet, but it’s not going to be long before it does. The clouds are dark, heavy and oppressive.
The air in my room is still chilly, a common occurrence for northern England. Fall is barely halfway over, but I can feel winter in every breath I take, a constant reminder of what’s coming. I wrap a blanket around myself and creep downstairs, the floorboards creaking and groaning. Sometimes I imagine that between one breath of wind and the next our cottage will simply fly off the cliff, disappearing with barely a whisper. I shake away the childish fantasies. Daydreaming is hardly appropriate for a lady nearing 11. Padding into the kitchen, I hope that my dad is still sound asleep. I glance at the clock- 5:19am.
I am restless. Something about the weather makes me itch, I fidget and pace, unwilling to go back to bed. Sighing, I accept the fact that sleep will elude me. I grimace- what I really want to do is go down to the beach. The water always helps to clear my head. Pausing, I consider it. The rain hasn’t started, and if I don’t go now I probably won’t get another opportunity before tomorrow. This settles it.
Making a split second decision I race upstairs, pausing only long enough to change. Towel in hand I scurry downstairs before stopping, my hand resting on the doorknob. Should I wake my dad? No, he wouldn’t let me go. And if I leave a note and he finds it all he’ll do is worry. Besides, he probably won’t even notice that I’m gone.
I am outside before I realize it, struggling to close the door in the wind. I revel in my moment of rebellion, fighting the urge to giggle. Already I feel lighter. The grass is rough beneath my feet, the weather only allowing the toughest of plants to survive. I turn my gaze outward. The cliff stretches out before me, miles and miles of almost unhospitable territory. Not for the first time, I wonder how our town has managed to survive. Even including children, our village barely tops 500 people.
Reaching the edge of the cliff I begin to scamper down the rocks, my route decided by years of practice. The waves are almost 60 feet below me, and I push away a pang of apprehension. I won’t go home before I’ve touched the water. The rain is starting now and I try to hurry- the rocks, slick in the best of times, are becoming dangerous.
With a sigh of relief I reach the bottom, placing my feet upon the rocky sand. At this point the beach is only a couple of feet wide, but that’s all I need. I giggle and spin, pushing my now-soaked hair out of my eyes. I’ve done it! I twirl, dumping my belongings on the ground, before seeing something out the corner of my eye. I am instantly suspicious. The cliffs make this path inaccessible to all but the locals, and our cottage is isolated by several miles. As I squint, an outline of a man begins to become distinct, and I realize that he is walking towards me. I am alert, however I can’t bring myself to leave. I will look silly if I leave for nothing. Besides, I am brave.
As he nears, I begin to feel more at ease. He’s clearly a teenager, probably no more than 16.
“Hello,” He yells, struggling to make himself heard, “nice weather we’re having!” I smile.
“It’s certainly not the best. What are you doing out here?”
“I needed to get out of the house.” He laughs. “I’ve been walking for miles.” I raise my eyebrow doubtfully.
“It’s true!” He says. “I know it’s early, but I’m a bit of an insomniac.”
I don’t know what that word means, and even if I did I’m not sure if I would believe him. He is slightly off-putting. I begin to back away, wanting some distance between the stranger and I. My dad wouldn’t like it that I’m talking to a stranger.
“I have to go now.” I say, trying not to sound nervous. “I’m expected at home.” My bravery gone, I grab my things and begin to make my way back up the cliff.
“Nice meeting you, Marie.” He says, his smile not reaching his eyes.
I am halfway up the cliff before I realize that I never told him my name. I don’t have a second to react before I feel arms wrap around me, trapping my hands to my side. I try to scream, but he quickly clamps a hand over my mouth.
“Sorry,” he huffs, “It’s nothing personal, but my boss really doesn’t like your dad.” I feel myself being lifted, and then I am weightless, hurtling through empty air. I don’t have any clue which way is up, my arms grasp at nothing. And then I hit the water.
The first thing I notice is that it’s cold. For a moment I am motionless, before my instincts kick in. I flounder, my arms wind milling, but I am unable to orientate myself. All I can feel is the pain in my back and in my legs, everything else seems to fade away. Except, of course, for the burning in my lungs. Even in my state, I know that if I don’t do something soon I will drown. But the current is so strong. I am being dragged out, and the shore seems so far away.
My eyes focus on one object- the blurred outline of the boy. He is still standing on the cliff, watching me. It’s just so hard to think. I am exhausted and my eyes begin to drift shut. A part of me whispers that I need to stay awake, but it is overshadowed. As my eyes finally close, the last thing I see is the boy slowly turning and walking away.