Winning Stories 2011
Story by Anna Wren
Joe and I stood on the edge. He was standing close, so close I could feel him shaking. We were centimetres away from it. If I took one step, just one step, I’d be over. What would it feel like, to fall like that? To feel the wind and the cold stretching my cheeks, pulling at my clothes. I leaned forward, really really slowly, keeping my feet in one spot. I just wanted to see. Joe grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging into me.
‘Careful,’ he said.
But it was enough. I could taste the cold of the wind on my tongue; could smell what was below. I wanted to be there.
‘Let’s do it,’ I said.
Since his mum died we’d always said we’d do this – a memorial. But we had to do it right. It had taken months of planning and persuading everyone to let us; it hadn’t been easy. Standing on this high ridge our toes almost curling around the edge really made us think about how fragile life is. I looked over at Joe who gulped and surveyed the view around him with unease.
“Don’t go getting cold feet on me.” I smiled.
His eyes shined back speaking words he would never say. Joe who was usually as steady as a rock wavered as images of his mum’s slowly declining heath surfaced in his inky eyes. His fist clenched in defiance of the cruel way she had been snatched from the world.
“Never!” He was resolute and firm.
Back to Joe, my Joe, who’d been with me since childhood. (His stubborn streak had got him into more trouble than it was, sometimes, worth) Our hands met in the middle and gripped tight. My heart fluttered in anticipation, I could see him sweating nervously. His hand was clammy and I was sure mine felt the same.
“Now...” we whispered in unison. We jumped.
For a moment I thought I had just made the biggest mistake of my life. Then the air whistled through my ears and I felt free. Joe’s mum had always wanted to do this and having him here, holding hands, was like being with her. I hoped Joes saw this similarity. We screamed with excitement as the ground rushed up to meet us. I had never thought the wind trying to steal my clothes and whipping my hair around my face could make me feel this alive. I tried to look at Joe’s face but the wind stung my eyes and tears ran down my face , I was blaming them on the wind but really I think I was crying for her, again, however I could just make out a look of sheer joy that could not even parallel anything else. Adrenalin pumped through our veins making this freefall last an eternity. The wind’s fingers tugged their way through my hair and the cliffs shrank back from our elated shrieks. I could just make out a group of figures standing in a sort of circle and flashes from cameras as we plummeted down.
Reality crashed back in as the elastic on our feat jerked us to a halt. The small bounces after were nothing compared to the initial fall. I knew my legs would probably hurt from the jarring motion but I didn’t care. Joe and I had held hands the whole way just as we’d promised his mum. We never break promises. I hoped as we waited to be hoisted back that wherever she was she could see him and was proud.
“For you, mum...” I vaguely heard Joe mumble as we clambered back onto the platform. Bungee Jumping; the only thing you’d never think Joe’s conservative mom would do. I gripped his shoulder, a wild grin on my face, and thought that this would quite possibly be the best moment ever.
“For Isabella.”
Anna Wren age 16
Henrietta Branford Writing Competition 2011
The Branford Boase Award for authors and their editors
The Henrietta Branford Writing Competition for young writers
