On The Edge


Thick blue leaves on tall trees hold on for dear life. Strong forest winds are visiting.

A soft “shhhhhhhhhhhhh” brushes the dried leaves on the ground. Four boots crunch through the forest.

Attentive birds remain curious and follow along overhead. They dive down occasionally for a closer look.

The forest ends up ahead. At the edge of a cliff. Off the edge there’s nothing but ocean splashing into sharp rocks below.

Atop the cliff they watch the sky in the waves. The orange ocean named dusk. Silhouettes holding hands. Short with skinny arms.

Heat radiates from the giant fireball. It’s half distorted, like a hologram going haywire or an old television losing signal.

Both silhouettes stand closer together and merge into one observer. A living shadow obsessed with the nearest star. Dozens of ballet dancing fireflies twirl out of the woods. Spinning and dancing around this bigger deformed shadow.

Birds glide away into the sun. They become silhouettes themselves and vanish between the sky and ocean.

The shadow divides into two and face the emptied forest.

Footsteps haunt the pitch black forest. The crunch of the leaves multiples rapidly. Louder than an intense rainstorm it rumbles through. Lifeless and consistent. It’s ever closer.

The nearby bushes wiggle, raddle and shake with a rougher “shhhhhh” than the forest winds.

Out from the dark hundreds of people covered in blood run out. Headed to the two silhouettes on the cliff’s edge. Their clothing is torn. Chunks of their flesh and skin are missing. Most of their hair has fallen. Their meat is rotting off their bones.

Yet they race to the top. Pushing each other desperately wanting to be the first up.

They’re nearly face to face with the hungry horde. The couple hold hands tighter and take one step back. They disappear over the cliff’s edge.

The horde follows.