Prompt: Write a short piece that is representative of your writing style.
Steep Cliffs and
Lonely Children
It was early. The marine layer had yet to burn off,
although lately it stayed through the day, shading all who wandered the paths
in dim, misty fog. From my position on the sidewalk by Taylor Hall I could hear
every conversation and remain unseen.
The smiling boy with too-short jeans talked louder than
most at this hour. I could hear the happy blitheness in his voice and it
disgusted me. Not for any real reason; I had nothing against him or happiness
in general. It just wasn’t the kind of morning for joyous proclamations of
friendship. I liked watching lonely figures fade into the fog, and Smiling Boy
refused to disappear.
He had a companion, though I found her presence more
tolerable. How she could stand the boy I didn’t know, but perhaps I was a
little more cynical than her…and the rest of the humans that walked these paths
so freely.
He
was leading her up the hill in front of me. Her dark clothing made her a shadow
against the gray sky, her blonde hair the only confirmation she wasn’t a
fixture of the buildings. More bored than interested, I followed them at a
slight distance. I was up far too early to be doing anything else of
importance.
They trekked up the hill, past the buildings my
colleagues had affectionately titled “Farmanian,” Smiling Boy still crowing
with undeserved glee. I had yet to hear the girl speak. I kept following.
It soon became clear that they were not heading for the
buildings themselves. Classes wouldn’t start for a few hours at least (though I
hardly paid attention to things as trivial as school anymore). The boy was
leading her to the park, which, on a clear day, had a view that most considered
breathtaking. I found it stifling. The ocean was my enemy.
Smiling Boy was probably the type to go surfing after
class, cheering on his buddies as they tramped down the cliffs. I’d never go
near; this whole school was treacherously close to the never-ending spans of
churning, dark water. I dismissed him from my mind. I never wanted to think of
Smiling Boy and his loud voice again.
The girl would enjoy the park. Her head turned this way
and that, lifting a thin wrist to gently caress the fog around her. I got closer,
but never did I hear her speak. She was lonely, like me. She would enjoy the
park on a clear day, like I did not, but would most certainly appreciate its
beauty most in the fog. It was quiet, desolate and dangerous any time, but on a
foggy day…
On a foggy day, the ocean was hidden. You would not see
the cliff. Not unless you tumbled down it.
I smiled at a terrible thought of the lonely girl
tumbling.
After a few minutes I let the girl disappear and walked
indistinctly down the hill. My spot had been discovered, my morbid thoughts
interrupted by those I briefly found interesting, but this would not last for
long. There was a place that I lived and slept and ate and it was in my mind,
calling me away from the fog and the ocean.
I wandered down the hill, farther and farther, turned and
went down farther. Not beach-far but dormitory-far. Not that I lived in the
dormitories. I did, but only when necessary. Only when others shepherded me
back. That hadn’t happened in a long time.
I stopped to stare at the damp windshields of cars and
imagined running a key down the side of every one. I’d never do that. I prefer
to stay silent and watch as others make waves.
Waves…waves were my enemy.
I’ve always had a
lot of enemies, but none of them people. There’s a difference between hating
something and being enemies with it. I hated Smiling Boy, but he was not my
enemy the way the ocean was. I hated him like I hated the crushed can I kicked
down the sidewalk; it did not belong and was disturbing nature around it but I
could kick it away from me until I couldn’t see it, lost in the trash of others.
If
I ever let people become my enemy I wouldn’t have a reason to live, for they
are everywhere and have their sticky hands in all things.
There
was hope left for the lonely girl. I could imagine the enemies she might have.
Maybe the wind. Maybe those shorts Smiling Boy was wearing.
I
could go back and try to talk to her. I could follow her and see where she
lived, which dorm, what year, major, car, friends, classes, social security
number. But I was too afraid. Afraid of discovering that she wasn’t lonely,
that she didn’t mind those too-short shorts, that she didn’t want a friendly
shadow like me.
It
had happened before.
I
don’t waste my time making enemies of people because people don’t waste their
time with shadows.
I
felt mist trickle down from the tree above me and decided to move. The fog was
beautiful from the park, but anywhere else it was simply depressing. I couldn’t
see my own shadow. I couldn’t tell if I was going to run into someone, unless
they were talking too loud and stomping their sandaled feet.
I
found the fence that barred me from falling off the sidewalk and down onto the
track and grasped it with pale fingers. I thought of what to do next, and
nothing came to mind. Nothing pleasant.
I
heard footsteps from behind and froze. They passed me by.
I
gripped the fence tighter and thought just as hard. Only one image played
itself over and over in my mind.
I
smiled as I imagined lonely girl tumbling.
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