Stage Directions

I should be in a white dress. The wind, it should be blowing, flinging my hair into my aura, wrapping my dress around my ankles, and then blowing it away.

I should be at the beach. Not the bright, sunny, colourful flotation device beach, but the crashing waves, steep, crumbling cliff and scraggly grass kind of beach. Walking along the edge of the cliff, staring down at the churning sea, unconcerned by the fate of my white dress in the vicious wind.

Perhaps I should clarify. I mean a white dress, not a White Dress.

I should be barefoot, having lost my shoes somewhere along the way. I could not recall where. Or what shoes. Or if I had ever worn shoes at all. I should be crying. Though, I always find that difficult. Knowing that I should be crying, I am suddenly incapable. I might cry. Let's leave it at that.

I walk, barefoot in my white dress perhaps in tears, to the edge of the cliff. The clouds, for the sky is gray with them, they pick up speed. Rushing by, blown away by the vicious wind, I should almost be able to hear them screaming. I should think, Just like I can almost hear myself screaming.

There should be rocks, in the ocean below me. The water around them should be white, and frothy. The rocks in contrast should black, slimy and jagged. There should perhaps be some sort of poetic echo, between the rocks and the water, and my white dress and my black hair.

I should step, to the very edge, with it crumbling beneath my toes and falling to the rocks that welcome it below. I should think, Just like it will welcome me.

I should lift my eyes to the sky, I should extend my arms as if pleading for salvation, I should turn my eyes into the wind and close them, I should lift myself onto my toes.

And then I wait. I wait.