The precipice. Near … our home. On the edge of town. I should not have thought of it. Yet it remained … a thought. On the edge, of the mind.

I would be working. Yet thinking, of the precipice. I would be speaking to my wife, and yet thinking. So slowly breathing, sitting, and facing … the bookcase. When I heard footsteps, I reached for a book. She imagined … I was reading.

One evening I stood there. On the very brittle edge. I looked, down. The rock, and the water, together. The water was … fur, of a lamb. The curled fur. And warm. I believed it would be so warm.

I looked down, and seemed to be moving, down. The fur … was turning. The muscle, of the animal. Near enough, nearly, to touch. Reaching …

A man. There was a man. In … a vessel. When he saw me, he dropped … one paddle. He looked at me strangely.

I stepped back.

A stone fell down my throat.

Then I was home.


Rolli is the author of the new short story collection God’s Autobio (Vancouver: N.O.N.). Pick up a copy at Chapters (Canada), or Amazon (US/UK).



4 thoughts on “THE PRECIPICE

  1. Beautiful. I especially liked the visual of the subject pretending to read when he heard his wife approaching. I can relate. Better to pretend being otherwise occupied than to have to explain what’s going on in my head.

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