On the Edge

The wind ruffled his hair. He shivered as the cold cut through his inadequate clothing. Stupid, really, to leave his coat in the house, but it made little difference now.

He looked out at the grey waves. Grey sky, grey waves, grey inside as well. It may be the season of goodwill and all that, but he felt that nothing could lift his spirits now.

The wind was becoming more powerful and the surface of the water danced manically to its rhythm. He heard the trees further along the cliff creaking as they bent away from the wind, unlike old men who bend into it.

Old man. When did that happen? Who sprung that surprise on him? He’d always been a twenty seven year old, well since he was twenty seven, but trapped in an aging body. But now he was old. His body ached from the moment he got up until he went to bed, and then it ached some more throughout the night. The chemical cocktail the doctors prescribed hardly helped. They only treated the symptoms of his complaint anyway. The problem was degenerative; there was only one way to stop it.

In the old days Christmas Day had always included a walk along the cliffs. It was a way to walk off the festive feast and an escape from the lure of possessiveness over presents. Half the presents in the morning, then the rest after the cliff walk was the rule. It gave the kids time to appreciate how lucky they were.

Rain began to fall. His ears hurt from the cold. He looked down at the rocks at the cliff’s foot and for a while watched the waves crash over them. It was like life, the way that events crash one after the other over you, but you’re still you when they ebb.
His thoughts were interrupted by a voice, his daughter’s. The kids were going to open some more presents. Time to go in.