Looking Across The Canyon (Alternate Ending)
by Suz Richards
Jessie stood, staring blankly at the crowds of people as they hustled past. Leaning against the lockers, she tried to act casual. People passed, their faces holding blank expressions. Friendly voices were heard above the hum of conversations, but not a single word was sent her way. She didn't want this. Why did bad things always happen to her?
Her mind lapsed back to a time long forgotten, or at least she wished it was. The day was clear in her head, like a photograph. The keys were clenched in her fist. Her head was spinning. The flames filled the night air with black smoke, it burned her eyes as she scrambled over the wall into the woods. A root caught her foot and she cried out as she fell harshly onto the ground. A broken bottle bottle lay on the floor next to her, a piece of glass deeply imbedded in her arm. She struggled on away from the blaze, unable to look back. She knew the river, she knew the canyon. She headed along the familiar path. In the air, the sound of sirens wailed, causing her heart to thump somewhere in her throat.
She reached the clearing. The moonlight shining down onto her face. her breath raced out of her mouth, forming clouds of vapour in the night air. The depths of the canyon fell into the black below her. The faint smell of a campfire lingering in the leaves. She stood staring blankly into the abyss. She'd never thought about how it would end for her. Looking into it's dark depths her mind filled with images of heaven and hell. Where would she end up?
She shifted her feet as a rock gave out beneath her. She slipped, her body tipping over the edge. She yelped, her heart skipping a beat. She flipped through the air, free falling as the walls of rock rushed past her eyes, the gloom swallowed her.
Meanwhile in a small village at the bottom of the canyon...
"For the last time, we did not order a giant trampoline!" James yelled as a stubborn delivery man stood holding a clip board in his outstretched hand, looking slightly irritated.
"Well you could of told me before I set it up". James was about to let rip a stream of profanities but something caught his attention in the sky. Something was falling from the cliff. The delivery man turned to glance at what had caught the guys attention. A girl fell screaming through the air, she was heading right for them. She plummeted quickly towards the ground. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable thud.
Jessie screamed until she ran out of breath. She shut her eyes, dreading what was to come next. Her body hit something, but instead of her crumpling, the surface molded to her. Then her body was being lifted up again, she left the surface and as quickly as she had fallen, shot back up through the air. She looked down. A trampoline? Is she dreaming? The cliff face fell away beneath her and she rose up over the canyon. Her feet dropping to land on solid ground. She collapsed to her knees, tears welling in her eyes.
"Jessie Smith?" A loud voice shouted. Glancing up she saw the flashing lights before she saw the men dressed in blue, guns at the ready.
"You're under arrest on attempt of property destruction and arson."
"Aw crap" she muttered
They helped her to her feet before cuffing her and placing her into the police car.
It had been 6 months since that night. She had done her time. They had told her she could go back to school. Like it was a privilege. She tried to return to normal, but nothing, or no one, was ever the same again.
The Convict
He stood casting his gaze out over the rolling waves. His heart, once encaged, was now free to rule this vast ocean. An overwhelming calm slid over him as his body swayed with the swell of the sea. A familiar feeling he had not realised how much he missed. What lay ahead of him he did not know, but his first objective was merely to sail as far away as possible from this god forsaken land. The year was 1702.
The cliffs dropped away to the left of him. The rope around his wrists chafed his worn skin, a single line of blood trickling down his fingers before splashing on the tanned earth before him. He walked, head held high, as the guards marched him towards the ropes. A navy tradition at Port Esquivel, any man convicted of piracy was sentenced to hang on the cliffs, a warning to other pirates. Looking forward, the sight of past comrades, now just bones, sent a chill down his spine.
He was one of the best shooters in the south sea, a match to be reckoned with when it came to swordsmanship, but he had been caught out by the drink. One rum too many had given him no chance of fighting them off when they came for him. Fifteen men had raided the inn, swords brandished. The cuffs had been on him before he was even able to stand up. A night he would not easily forget. They didn’t treat pirates kindly round these parts. He was beaten to within an inch of his life, bruises painted his skin a tinge of purple and his bones ached with every move.
The noose came slowly over his head, tightening uncomfortably around his stiff neck. The rough material scratched at his skin as they moved him closer to the cliff edge, small rocks gave way beneath his feet as he lowered his gaze towards the now threatening waves. When dropped he would enter the water, the soldiers always took this precaution, just in case the neck didn’t break, the water would finish them. The sharp prick of a sword jabbed into his back. It was time. Might as well do it with dignity, he thought. Moving one foot precariously close to the edge, he leaned forward, allowing his body weight to take him over. The wind hit him in the face as he fell through the air, the rope tightening before jerking his head backwards. Pain shot through his neck and spine but he remained conscious. The water came up fast and the chill of it stung his skin. He cursed himself, why couldn’t his neck of broken, now he would suffer the longer process of drowning.
Under the water everything blurred into one, but a glint in the corner of his eye caused him to turn. A line of shining metal was propped against the rocks. He kicked out with his legs, inching his way towards it. His thoughts had been right! A rusted sword, lost in battle long ago. Reaching out he rubbed the bonds holding his wrists against it. Slowing the rope began to fray, finally giving way and loosening before falling to the sea floor. He grabbed the sword, flinging it upwards toward the noose. He let out the last of his breath just as his neck fell free. Quickly pushing off the rocks he swam towards the surface, the cold air filling his lungs as he gasped, the pain in his chest dissipating, replaced with a welcome first breath. Above him the guards’ shouts and yells merged with the crashing of the waves on the cliffs. He swung his arms through the water, heading along the coastline towards the port.
