The Anthology of Prey & Predator

A woman stands on the cliffs above where the sea meets the shore. The fog has rolled in, thick and grey and ominous, concealing what would be the deadly tides.

Every morning at dawn, she steps out of her 18th-century cottage and walks to the cliffside to gaze at the sea, searching for a passing ship to reassure herself of the presence of human life. The faint, blurred light of the lighthouse would signal that ships are sailing through this territory. However, it has been three years since she last saw a ship. She wonders the point of keeping the light on and who has been maintaining it all these years. She imagines the caretaker as a weary, cranky retired sailor who hates company and enjoys solitude. Sometimes, she thinks the lighthouse might be haunted—a silly thought that she has entertained a few times.

The misty fog begins to fade, clearing her view of the bottom of the cliffs. The rocks look jagged and sharp. The violent waters would sweep her under, dragging her down, down, down.

She knew how far the drop was. She knew that the fall would lead to imminent death.

The thin, near-translucent cloth of her dress is damp from the dense morning mist clinging to her skin. The tallgrass tickles her toes, sending bumps along her body. The temperature drops by the second, but her frozen fingers and purpling lips do not bother her. Her body is cold, but she feels no discomfort—just numb.

She breathes deeply, contemplating if she should jump.

She wonders which way would be less painful. To die from the crushing impact where her bones would shatter into a million pieces, or to have water fill her lungs, slowly suffocating her as she drowns. These thoughts have been wandering her mind these past few months. The isolation has been tearing away her sanity, day by day, piece by piece. Her soul has disconnected from her beating heart, and she has no idea how to save herself.

The troubles she has created in her head have convinced her that that’s her new reality. She cannot discern what is real and what is made up. The sinister Voice whispers in her ear, telling her she’s worthless and the world would be better off if she were dead, enticing her with deception concocted by lies.

The burning resentment she has for herself grows deeper and deeper. She sees no way out. No chance of hope to pull her away from the lege, to free her from The Voice.

Jump, The Voice tells her. Just jump, and all of this suffering will cease. Let me claim you. The Voice lacks empathy; its cold, heartless tone is both dark and seductive.

She’s convinced herself that she’s on the verge of madness. She believes she created this Voice to keep her sane from the lack of company. To have someone to speak to. She did not expect it to respond. But now it’s turned on her. It’s telling her to commit atrocious acts. And she’s on the verge of caving into it.

A tear trickles down her cheek, merging with the condensation of her wet skin. Her long, inky-black hair stuck to her damp back.

She came to this desolate place to escape her past. To find peace in the solitude. But her inner demon followed and latched itself onto her like a leech, sucking the life out of her.

No, she says back to The Voice, I don’t want to die today. I can’t give up yet. There’s still hope. She’s now weeping, but she felt a flicker of strength appear inside of her just by resisting these urges.

Coward, It hisses, your soul will be mine soon enough. You’re weak and frail mind will collapse and fall into insanity.

Her heartbeat rises, fear quickening her pulse.

The Voice senses her fear and feeds into it. It’s only just a matter of time before that happens. You might as well let me in before the madness consumes you.

Her head begins to throb with pain.

That’s never going to happen, she lies; you are a figment of my imagination. You do not exist. She tries to convince herself, but a part of her believes The Voice truly does exist. Leave my mind. She needs to block it out, and she needs to get rid of this parasite.

She takes a step back from the cliff’s edge, ready to return to her cottage, savoring a fresh cup of coffee and to crawl back into the comforts of her bed. But as she turns to walk away, a gust of wind slams into her. The force is strong, so she tries to regain her balance, but her foot slips on the wet mud, and she falls off the ledge.

Her eyes are wide open, taking in the last few moments of her meaningless life. The sounds of the crashing waves become louder. And The Voice inside her head is absent.

And in that moment she realizes why. There’s an apparition of a man in a long, black trench coat, standing where she stood mere moments ago. She knew this was no man. It was a thing from her nightmares. He looks down at her as she’s falling, smiling wickedly. It was real.

Then the snap of her spine echoes through the winds.