He must feel.
She must see he is sorry. How could he ever be forgiven? The thought wandered his mind a moment and he reached out and brushed his fingertips along the back of her hand. She shivered away. Grief swept across him as sure as the wind.
Anger grew and spread within her at his calloused touch. How could he possibly believe she would forgive him so easily? He must feel; he must feel the pain he has caused. The tall, sombre grass grazed her thigh and her eyes searched the reddening horizon for something, anything.
He turned his eyes to her face. He watched as her jaw flexed, released, flexed, released; pain flooded his heart. The internal drowning he felt within made itself known and a tear slid down the stubble of his cheek. He was sorry, so very sorry for what he had done. It was only in her best interest, only what was the best for them, he was sure. Obviously, he stood grossly incorrect.
She felt his gaze. Hands clenched, she moved yet another inch away. He had invited her here to speak out his apology, and she decided, that this time she would finally listen. The damage he had done could never be undone, but she so badly wanted to forgive him. Anger had crawled across her heart, and it seemed, that was the only emotion she could feel for him now. The horizon glowed, glowed, glowed with sinister eyes; it welcomed her.
The words he had planned to say blew away with the wind the moment she had arrived. The soft outline of her silhouette against the dancing grass, the image of her violet scarf fluttering in the wind, this scene replayed itself in his mind for the hundredth time. Another wave of sadness rocked him.
He must feel.
Because of the upset overtaking him, he felt nothing when her figure abruptly shot forward to the crimson sky.
Her feet trod in 'thud, thud, thuds' against the grass as it flattened under her footfalls. The horizon grew as she came closer and closer to the crashing waves of the ocean; the orange edge of the cliff.
His hand rose, reached for her in an inadequate motion that somehow symbolized his want for something that could never more be his. His feet, though, remained planted among the grass stretching for miles behind him.
He must feel. He must feel what it is like to have your body torn from inside out. He must feel the sting of loss, of death itself. And she, this distraught girl, would sacrifice her life for that need to feel.
She rose, then fell below the cliff edge.
The ground fell from beneath her.
The world stopped.
Suddenly, she decided against this insane idea. This moment alone would make him feel. A taste is enough. Mid-fall she struggled to turn, reached for the wall of the cliff. Branches tore through its' surface and her arms flew out to grasp one. The skin grated from her hands. Scarlet marked its path along orange.
The grass stilled. Waves froze. His heart stopped. No.
A branch ripped against her fingers and she groped for it. The handhold brought her to a sudden stop.
The world blurred with tears that he had never noticed were falling. His raised hand dropped and he turned away; his hand shook without restraint. Nothing moved as he disappeared from this surreal world. His big red truck loomed as he neared. He would awake soon, he was sure. She would be in his arms in the morning. Her death... Her death. No. So, he supposed, this was what she planned. This is what he deserves. She was willing to sacrifice herself for him to realize, for once in his life, that he was wrong. She was just as crazy as he.
