On the edge of total infinity.
She balanced precariously on the edge of the cliff, literally; her bare feet's heels were set firm on the wobbly rocks, but her toes were clinging to nothing but air. The sun burned a brilliant pink-red-orange, and the Dublin cliffs glowed.
Underneath her, jagged rock and cliff bolted down, and underneath that, a cackling, frothy ocean.
She rocked back and forth on the heels of her feet, carelessly, breathing in the wild wind and enjoying how it burst in her clothes like the police at the door of a murderer.
If she fell through total infinity, she wondered mindlessly, would she fall forever, or just not?
It was not, however, the relevant question to her situation.
No, the relevant question would be the most obvious; should she fall or not?
(Well, of course, that was the main question. The others were just sub-questions, then sub-questions of sub-questions, etc.)
She dug her left heel more firmly in to the dry earth, pebbles pricking the sole.
Then, tilting her head at the horizon daringly, she spun around, very almost tripping over her own toes and stumbling in to the forbidding ocean, but catching herself at the very last moment.
On the edge of total infinity.
Her head tilted to the other side, contemplative. The ocean waves crashed against the cliff base, like football fans yelling for their team, urging, urging, urging.
But she no longer had the urge. Her fans were silent.
She smirked, satisfied, at the horizon, and then turned smartly on her left heel. She walked away, away from the infinity, retreating to the steady ground of Closer to life and Further from away. The wind nudged her tentatively from behind, making the way easy. Her red hair danced in front of her.
She climbed in to her vermillion-red, '57 Camaro (which she absolutely adored, honestly), and coaxed the engine in to running. It sputtered, but then revved up and drove away from the cliff.
*** *** ***
The car slowed down in a one-way street, engine almost purring, headlights dimly lighting the way in the charcoal-dark night. It finally turned in to a driveway.
She parked the car, then turned the key. It suddenly went still, silenced.
Clambering out, she ran a hand across the top fondly, and locked it. Then she went inside the house.
Murmuring an 'ello' and 'love you' and 'goodnight' to her parents, she kissed their foreheads briefly, and drifted upstairs.
Twist. Turn. Her room door came in to vision, and she grasped the handle, a queer smile on her lips, balancing like a see-saw between happy and not.
She let herself in, then shut the door.
She switched her night light on - even if seventeen seemed an old age for a night light, it was appropriate - and it glowed comfortingly, a bright ladybug lamp. Then she reached for the window sill, and eased the window pane up.
A soft breeze blew, a few autumn leaves spiralling in to her room, where they shuffled across the carpet for only a few moments, before piling together.
Her fingers reached a little left, and she pressed her fingers against the glass of a photo frame.
Within the photo frame, there was a photograph of two people. One, a girl with ginger hair that danced boldly behind her with wind.
The other was her own little secret.
She smiled, dazedly, and set her chin on the window sill. The moon was a perfect sliver of only a couple of days old.
The stars smiled at her.
"Hi, Angel. I'm home."