It begins the same way, every time. David opens his eyes at the top of the cliff. The wind hits his face. The sea murmurs below. His legs are already moving.

  He doesn’t want them to. He tries to stop—but he can’t. His feet carry him forward, over the edge, down the 103 steps. He counts them. Every time. He doesn't want to—but he counts. He walks the same line, through the same sand, toward the same boy.

  Chris.

  He sees him from a distance—crouched by the rock pools, smiling, unaware. The two women on the blanket. The glint of sun off the water. It’s always the same. He calls out. “Hi.” The word comes out like a reflex, hollow and mechanical. Chris looks up, smiles.

  David screams inside his mind. Stop. Please stop. But his body keeps going. He strikes. Jab, jab, gut punch.

  Except the punches land harder. Crueller. More deliberate. Chris cries louder. His eye swells faster. The screams cut sharper through the wind. And David watches from inside himself, helpless—a prisoner in his own skin.

  Forced to hurt someone who never deserved it. Again—and again—and again. He feels his fists land each time. Each time they strike harder; blood gushes from Chris’s face; he staggers and falls to the ground. On some days, David kicks Chris when he is down—hard—in the stomach or maybe to the face. Never through choice.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Each and every time he fights his body—trying to stop it. Each time failing as the nightmare continues and he runs away again. Up the 103 steps, into town, past the shops. Into the alleyway. The seagull is always there. Crumpled, broken, watching.

  He picks up the stick.

  No matter how much he begs himself—Don’t. Please don’t.—his arm swings down. The bird shrieks. Then it doesn't. Then it does again—still alive—and he continues striking. Finally it stops. Nothing left to hit; a bloody, battered mess on the ground.

  Then darkness. And it begins again. The same cliff. The steps. The pain. Always the same. On and on. It goes on.

  And then—one day—it changes.

  He’s at the top of the cliff again, just about to go down the stairs, when he hears something. A sound behind the wind. A voice. He turns. It’s Chris. Not the boy, but the man. Calm. Steady. Kind. He knows it’s Chris.

  “I forgive you,” Chris says. Just three words. Nothing more.

  And everything breaks.

  The cliff fades. The beach vanishes. The weight lifts.

  For the first time in years—or perhaps eternity—David breathes as he is allowed to move forward.