forward, my arms flapping to balance myself. Desperately I clutched at the air, hoping it would become tangible enough to save me. I heard Sarah scream before it was lost in the whoosh of the wind as I fell. I fought to breathe but my lungs found only water. As the weight of the rucksack dragged me deeper, I extended my hand, trying to grasp the rippled blue of the sky before it was obliterated by the black sea. When I came around Sarah was above me, her hair stuck to her face. I coughed and retched until there was nothing left, until I thought I would turn inside out. “You jumped?” “You didn’t come up.” “But you jumped?” “You were drowning.”
For the last thirty years Sarah has stood resolute beside me, holding my hand, guiding me through the grey fog
of depression following my father’s death, through the alcoholic stupor that ensued after losing my business in 2005. She has always been there, dragging me back from the abyss which having tasted me has pursued me relentlessly, whispering from the darkness, coveting me. The tide is rushing in, devouring the bed on which I lie and I can feel the waves beating against me again, dragging me down into the murky depths. With sallow, callous fingers the black sea is summoning me and though I can feel Sarah clasping my hand, wiping the blood from by mouth, attempting to drag me from its grip, to pluck me again from the abyss, her attempt is futile. The black sea will not relinquish me again and even my unfaltering Sarah cannot release me from the debt I owe it.