In the spirit of sharing, another very rough and very first draft of yet another story.
Rebecca stood barefoot on the rough, weather-beaten grass and looked out at the sea. The water was slate-blue and powerful waves crashed onto the pebbles some three hundred feet below Rebecca’s curled toes.
‘Well,’ she thought, ‘this is it, then.’
Although her bare arms prickled in response to the cold westerly wind, she kept them flat against her sides and stood stock still.
Her mind had not stopped working since the events of the previous seventy-two hours jerked into action, but her body had reached a stage akin to dormancy. After nothing but coffee, cigarettes and breathmints for over a day now, her limbs were heavy and were good for nothing but rooting her to the spot at the top of this cliff. At some point, sleep would be long, deep and very, very welcome; but for now she still had thinking to do.
There was no car to be seen up here, and had there been any passers-by, they would have wondered how this woman – clad in a midnight blue satin evening gown but without shoes, a bag, or a jacket – had ended up here.
Rebecca herself was finding it difficult to remember the order of events since Saturday, but the high-speed journey to the clifftop in the back of that rickety, rusty postvan was destined to remain unforgettable for some time to come.
As the sun disappeared behind a thick, grey cloud formation, Rebecca gave in and let herself sink to the grass. She tucked her now-blue and increasingly numb feet under the long skirt of her dress and wrapped her arms around herself, coaxing some warmth back into her shoulders.
‘OK, then,’ she thought to herself in the same determined voice she used for getting up on difficult mornings. ‘What next?’