The coast rambler bus dropped Don off at the Giant's Causeway car park. A gentle Atlantic breeze eased his troubled brow. Tourists and sightseers were strolling to and fro across the car park, the purpose and destinations of their journeying of no consequence to him. He wandered aimlessly towards the shop, wondering why he bothered. None of the shop items inspired him to make a purchase. Leaving the shop, Don blended with a group of French speaking tourists walking towards the famous rock formation. After reaching the rocks, he took several deep breaths of fresh salty air, watched a small child dancing on top of a basalt column, and made his way up a path to the cliff top. His heart was full of empty and his mission to end it all crystal clear.
There was no escaping passers-by. The air was getting distinctly cooler so he hoped there would be fewer people around to bother him or interfere. Buttoning his grey leather jacket against the chill, he walked towards Benbane head. Somewhere between Port na Spaniah and Port Noon, he chose his spot. Looking down brought him sheer terror.
The stiff sea breeze roused Don's facial muscles. He imagined the wind whistling past his ears, his falling as free as an eagle descending on its prey. With a wry smile, he thought swooping was a better word to describe the eagle's fixation on its victim. But he wasn't an eagle. He had slept badly at his B&B accommodation the previous evening and now nursed a splitting headache. Lying on that saggy mattress through the dark hours, his catalogue of woes had worked into a full page in his mind. Right now he couldn't even go over them all, his memory wasn't working properly. All he knew was that his list was long enough to justify his standing on this cliff edge. He longed to be free from pain and regret.
Don was afraid of heights. Stepping over the edge was not like the coyote in a cartoon realising his mistake and quickly retracing its steps, though Don wished this was possible. If one embarked on this one-way trip, would that final drop elicit the release he craved? Terror and release both together, perfect bedfellows, arm-in-arm, in pursuit of self-destruction. He felt giddy and profoundly sad in equal measure. Nothing else mattered, or more accurately, Don's mind did matter in a mad hatter kind of way, and materially, his body was connected with his mind. Body and mind, each united, just about.
A momentous decision, horrid indecision. Don did not know what to do for the best, but then he didn't know what 'the best' meant any more. He tilted forward, ever so slightly, not too far so that he couldn't lean back swiftly. The sea looked calm, a deep blue with white foam on the cusp of the waves lapping into the cliff edge. Rocks, he found it hard to tell if they were round or jagged, protruded below - messy, final.
'One more l-o-n-g look,' thought Don, 'to the horizon and beyond, and another quick look at rock bottom.'
Seagulls squawked with indecent loudness, interrupting the wistful silence. To jump or not to jump. That was Don's choice. He tried to think of one big reason why he should jump. None in particular sprung to mind; just the accumulation of jumbled pieces of happenings hit him like a juggernaut.
Just at that moment he heard a female voice _ _ _ _
