One Penny At A Time

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

CW: Near suicide.

The wind blows my hair. I’m standing on the edge again.

How many times have I had this dream?

Waves crash against the cliff below me. Salt stings my face.

At the time it made my eyes water, adding to the tears already blurring my vision and making my nose ooze. But in the dream my eyes are dry, my breathing clear.

I look around. Turn from the glorious sunset before me to examine the road behind. Looking for the stranger.

I wish I’d gotten their name. Something that would let me find them. I never said thank you. I can’t even remember their face. It’s all a blur.

What stuck in my mind is how calm they were.

Ah. Here they come.

“Hey. You alright?”

I had been vibrating with fear and anguish, choking on the concept of death but unable to face living. Utterly alone. Until they sauntered up next to me and started talking like we knew each other. Like I was sitting next to a car on the highway verge. Or standing in a tube station clutching a map.

Not like I was standing on a cliff gazing out into the ocean dissolving in my own snotty tears.

I don’t remember the conversation we had. I know I ranted until my voice gave out. Until my tears ran dry and my head pounded and I was left a crumpled heap next to them.

When I decided I didn’t want to jump, didn’t want to go, they called me an ambulance. Sat with me until rescue came.

They gave me their water bottle. It was a battered old plastic one. I don’t think it even held water originally. Probably soda. But it had tap water with a slice of lemon.

It’s next to my bed right now. In the real world. I’ve been putting a penny in every day. Every day that I’m still here. Not sure what I’ll do when it’s full. Feels like I ought to spend it on something symbolic, but what? What could possibly sum up this cruel, kind, beautiful scab of a world?

Maybe I’ll get myself a slice of cake. Whatever the cafe’s got fresh.

I wish I could ask what kind of cake they like. But this is just a dream.

So I hug them. Bury my face in their battered windbreaker. It smelled of pine. Natural? Washing power scent? I will never know. But that peaceful smell helped calm me as we waited for rescue.

I wish I could say thank you. Wish I could tell you I’m still here. Still trying. Still crying, sometimes. But not on a cliff edge.

Wish I knew your name.

Wish I knew what kind of cake you like.

Wish I remembered your face.

But I’m here. I’ll wake up tomorrow. It will be a new day.

One more penny.

[I feel it would be remiss not to include a support link. If you’re ever in that place, please check out the IASP or your local suicide hotline. https://www.iasp.info/crisis-centres-helplines/]