By Tejashri Pradhan
Every night, she stands at the edge of the cliff, her gaze on the sky rather than on the ocean below. The world stretches about her in every direction, but there’s only one direction for her. She feels the wind buffet her body and tangle her hair and chap her skin until she can’t handle the cold any longer. She doesn’t jump, but merely takes a step off the edge.
Every night, she spreads her arms out to the sides like skeletal wings. She imagines the air buoys her and lifts her up to the singing stars and jellyfish moon above. For a moment, she’s suspended in midair, and then the sea rises to claim her.
Every night, her body shatters against jagged rocks that slash the skin from her flesh. The current drapes its cold fingers around her ankles and tugs her down until she has no choice but to let the seawater pierce her lungs. She’s reminded in that instant of how fragile a human life is and how easily lost.
Every night, the frothy ocean swirls around her like mouthwash swishing around the slick rocks that are Earth’s teeth. It presses into her broken skin, cleansing in its sweet agony.
Every night, she feels his pain when he lost his footing and slipped, crying out for Mommy. She’d told him not to go to so close to the edge, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. She threw herself on the cliff on her stomach, groping wildly for his hand. Her fingers barely grazed his tiny wrist. For a frozen instant, his pulse fluttered against her fingers like a broken wing trying in vain to fly. She saw his development in reverse. He was shrinking back into a baby and from a baby into a fetus until he was encased by Earth’s womb. She had no choice but to watch helplessly as the ocean swallowed her heart.
Every night, she knows she should let herself feel his terror too, but that would mean sleeping instead of jumping. It would mean allowing her nightmares to crawl into her torn heart the way the salty waves of the ocean seep into her open wounds. She can bear the pain again and again, but she’s too cowardly to risk feeling his fear.
Every night, she dies and floats in nothingness—no thoughts, no existence. It could be nirvana or some higher state beyond consciousness, but it just feels like a void. Maybe it isn’t that she seeks out his pain. Maybe she seeks out an escape because it is only when she’s drowned that she can take comfort in oblivion. And yet, it’s so incredibly empty because she knows if there’s nothing, she’ll never see her baby again.
Every morning, the sunrise sweeps her back to the shore with all her pieces reassembled in just the physical sense. She returns to a life that has long since ceased to have any meaning—that seems like pale watercolors compared to the vibrant acrylics of the cliff at night.
And when night finally comes, she does it all over again.
Tejashri Pradhan has lived her whole life in California, making up stories even before she could write. This is her first published story. She can be found on Twitter @TejiSunflower.
Photo Credit: “Tertiary limestone cliffs of Uluwatu” by PHGCOM