She sits on the edge of the precipice. A girl, no more than 21 years old. There are tears running down her cheeks. She is ready to jump.
“Hey, what are you doing?” the stranger approaches, “Get off that... you don’t want to do that.”
“Maybe I do” the girl replies.
“No, please... hey, let’s talk.”
They always want to talk when it’s too late.
“Tell me, what’s making you feel so bad...” The stranger has an open face, the kind you trust instinctively.
The girl talks, for a long time. She tells the stranger secrets she never told anyone else. The girl doesn’t understand why she is talking now,.... now when it really is too late. But she does, and sometimes, it is like she is watching someone else tell her stories. She can’t stop. She starts to feel better. The stranger is nice, the stranger listens, like no one else ever did before.
It is getting dark and the cold wind starts to blow in from the harbour. The stranger is cold, and hungry. The stranger starts thinking about home, and a warm dinner, and her family at home, awaiting her return.
“I have to go... I’m sorry, but it was nice to talk to you....” The stranger starts to leave.
Before long, the dark has set in, and the girl remains on the precipice.