He used to climb this rock when he was a kid.
Pretty easy – large platforms, almost like steps. Only one trickier part when you get to the very top.
He helped her up, and they watched the sea crash below them, salt and spray. Safe, though. If the tide came in, they’d be an island, but they’d be dry.
He’d thought this would be the place, but it wasn’t right. Grey sky, cold wind.
Nowhere was how he remembered it.
“Nice,” she said, without feeling. “Can we get down?”
“Yeah.” He fingered the ring in his pocket. “Let’s get down.”
—–
This is a story about Black Rock, at Widemouth Bay, which I did climb a lot as a kid. The story ended up being rather more melancholy than I first expected.
Black Rock:
The picture was taken by Doug McNeall, and you can find his flickr stream here.
3 comments… add one
Fantastic writing. Such a short snapshot, yet encompassing so much of the narrator’s life – from childhood to his intended proposal. I think this is one of my favourites.
Very nice. You have a quite a talent. It did indeed turn out quite melancholic. Ended up quite powerful, actually.
Keep ‘em coming!
Nice Neil, I think you might be getting quite good at this writing lark now! I’m glad you found the picture – adds a little atmosphere with Millook brooding in the distance!