The water called to her…

A short extract from a much longer creative writing project I am currently working on, which began life during NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) 2020, and will hopefully become a full-length novel:

She followed the narrow track down to the coastal path, overgrown brambles catching at her ankles on the way. Suddenly the hedgerow opened out and there it was in front of her: the sea. Mighty, intimidating, it always inspired awe. It had shown her who’s boss a fair few times over the past six years, reminding her of the power of this little planet.

The coast path wound away to her left and right. Behind her: thick hedge, in front: nothing but space and water all the way to the horizon. Meg stepped as close to the cliff edge as she dared. The water was calling to her. She wanted to feel its coolness on her skin, so she found the spot where the bank sloped a little shallower and she scrabbled down like a bat.

Taking off her boots, she nestled them against the rocks. The sand was gritty between her toes. The waves broke onto the shore, splaying out foamy fingers across the sand. She walked down to meet them and felt the first chilly touch as the water lapped at her feet. The sea was unsettled today, a southerly wind blowing in across its surface, the peaks and troughs shifting constantly. Meg pulled off her clothes and threw them further up the beach, aiming above the high tide line of wet sand. She turned back to face the water and dived over the crashing wave. Cold enveloped her, the freshness an instant release. She resurfaced a few metres in, past the breaking point.

Bobbing on the surface, she looked back up at the cliff. Was that a figure she saw, standing at the edge? They were watching her. She turned away and dived under, away from the turbulence of the surface, and followed the seabed to deeper waters. Down here: peace.

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