There seemed to be no other way up. The edge broke her skin and hit 10 000 nerves, or so it felt. The pain emptied her lungs of air and she did everything not to let go. The voices were talking but she could make no sense of it all; she only knew that she had to keep going. The problem is that she had nowhere to go. The blood was draining from her hand. Her pulse was slowing down as the sweat dried on her face. Her body weight, doubled then trebled and with each agonising second, her weight increased exponentially. Three limbs gently swayed. She hung onto her life with every thread of her soul. Then every voice and thought went silent. Her head was being cleared of blood. Her eyes slowly went back into her head. She willed her fingers to grip the only jagged rock available when an arm appeared… It was him. She sensed his presence before she saw his voice or heard his voice. His scent filled her lungs and her head whipped forward to look at him and his extended hand. He was staring at her with those eyes and silently daring her. He was compelling. She rebelled, finger by finger, dropping to her death.
For the Scriptic.org prompt exchange this week, Lance at http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com gave me this prompt: Her fingers gripped the only jagged rock available when an arm appeared….
I gave November Rain (k~) at http://bloggitwrite.blogspot.com this prompt: One thing to give up to be happy: hope. Oh, and there is another: faith.