Here’s a story about a cliff, because why not? There’s some swearing in this, so don’t read if you don’t like that sort of thing.
Christ, it’s freezing today. Just because I’m several hundred metres of solid rock, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel the cold. I don’t know how you miniature meatbags make it through the winter. I certainly don’t know what it is that makes you think it’s a good idea to throw yourselves down me on those skinny little ropes, not in any weather never mind this biting blooming chill.
I can feel you on top of me now, those spiky boots you wear digging into me through the grass. How would you like it if I came and stood on top of you? That’d be interesting, wouldn’t it? You don’t even think about my feelings, though, do you? I’m just a cliff. I stand here and stop the sea from attacking your precious little houses. Occasionally, bits of me drop off. And all you care about is the chance to clamber down me.
Look, here you come now. Ow, watch it, those boots really do hurt, you know. Oh, there’s two of you coming at once, is there? Looks like you’re together, in that sort of way that only humans are ever together, that is you share a house, maybe a bed, but you don’t listen to each other and spend most of your time – when you’re not clambering down my face watch those bloody boots please – staring at people on TV leading miserable bloody lives or sitting behind desks at your stupid little jobs or eating Italian food and drinking red wine with your bloody horrible friends and god I hate all of you I hope you fall off.
Calm down. I’m probably just jealous. It’s not much fun being me, shivering in the cold all winter, the sea coming in and battering against where my feet would be if I had any, seagulls shitting on me then buggering off caw-caw-cawing. If I had any razor blades, I’d probably slit my wrists, if I had any wrists, or any hands to do it with. God, what’s the point?
Look at the pair of you, with your neon yellow tracksuits and those stupid bloody hard hats on, like that’s going to save you if you go plummeting into the sea and crack your spines off the rocks. I hope the tide comes in when you get to the bottom and you both drown. That’s it, hurry it up, will you, Jesus, you two are the slowest there’ve ever been. I’ve had 80-year-olds come down me faster, and that’s the truth. I see what’s gone on here. You’ve been to a poncey climbing wall in some crappy little leisure centre and one of you’s said ‘Ooh, I feel so golly-gosh-darn daring, that was sooo easy, you know it would be such a lark if we did it for real’. It’s not so funny now, is it? Ooh, don’t put your foot there. Or there. Oh, he’s stuck. She’s not doing so bad, mind you. Best go and rescue your hubby, missus, he’s whimpering a bit. Ah, wait, wait… there you go. That’s where you put your foot. Don’t cry, bubba, you’re safe now. Just a bit farther down to go.
Sometimes, on clear days, I can see another cliff way over there, where the bay curves around. I wonder if he feels like me. I’d like to shout or wave to him, but of course I can’t because I’m just a cliff. It would be nice to have someone to chat to. Instead, I just have to talk to myself like this, or yell at idiots like you two, without ever being heard.
That’s it. You’re down now, well done I suppose. You look like you’ve piddled in your knickers, fella. Go on, get yourself gone. Don’t come back, not that I think you will. I’ll just keep looking at the sea. Maybe there’ll be a boat coming past soon. Something for me to look forward to, there.
God’s sake, will it ever warm up?