Silver Rock

By Emmanuel Lachlan

She runs from the cottage, hands dripping red, mud squeaking between her toes. Along the cliff top. Down, down the steps, gathering her dress and petticoats.

She cannot go back.

Under the cliff, she laughs at the scabrous outcrop. She will get to the end. Moon cuts the clouds.

She is silhouette.

Scrambling, stumbling over slippery, silver rock. Restless sea, angry sky, swarming rain. Where the rock dissolves to sea, she stares; she remembers; she weeps.

She is shadow.

The sea ignores her. The sea considers her. The sea despises her. Spray caresses her. Now, she is silent.

Empty, barren, rock.