August 16, 1940, 3:36 PM
The rain pours heavily and soaks her garments, and the wind beats fiercely upon her round, tanned face; her hands, palms forward, slightly outstretched to either side of her.
She thought rather fondly of such a stormy day. It was a day she felt she could ponder anything, but not one thing in particular.
“What a glorious day. I have seen none better than such.”
She sways gingerly on the edge of the cliff on long, lean legs, listening to the waves of the English Channel crashing against the palisade. They carve into the ragged rocks like master masons, chiseling such beautiful artwork into the deep crevices and cracks of the depleting rock face; their clangor comforting her in a way that no other sounds could. A shame really, for the war takes all the sound, the joy, the wonder from the world ... The life.
She takes the step, and the only thing coursing through her mind ...
*What a glorious day. I have seen none better than such.
© Shane Leigh
I took this from another one of my short stories. This one happens to be my favorite one. Of course, I added in some things and discarded some things, but if you want to read the short story please feel free to ask me to send it to you. I'd be more than happy to share it.