The Cliffs

by J. Courtney Sullivan

Jane’s mother always claimed to be overwhelmed, though by what, Jane had no idea. She seemed unable to deal with the details of life that other adults just handled.

A fear tugged at Jane’s pocket, whispering that she had only wandered temporarily into somebody else’s lovely life.

It was a strange feeling, to hope with everything she had that she would be allowed back into her own life.

That was one aspect of youth Marilyn didn’t miss. She had no fear anymore. The worst had already happened and she had survived.

To be young and fortunate was to believe in your own greatness. Not to understand the importance of the slog, the toil. The work of the work.

There had been a whiplash-like quality to her life for the past year and a half. Things that seemed permanent just went poof.

In every graveyard in every town in all the world, there lie buried stories more remarkable and strange than a name, a date, a designation on stone could ever in a million years convey.