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A short story 9-Apr-2004 At 4:35:47 PM Damietta

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When I came to, all I could smell was her hair, it smelt beautiful. It was all over my face.

The day had started out well enough, she had picked me up before sunrise and we had made the familiar journey out to the cliffs. On the drive in we had mostly talked about climbing. I pointed out that the river next to the road was high for this time of year.

I had known Sarah only a short time, but I had seen her face in climbing magazines for many years. For someone young she had packed in a huge amount of climbing experience both here and overseas. She was the sort of girl who was highly sort after in the climbing fraternity, beautiful, but in an athletic, tomboyish sort of way.

But all that mattered now was trying to keep her alive. The taste of blood mixed in with tears as I tried desperately to revive her. Her grey eyes looked lifelessly skyward and reflected the setting sun; aside from my hopeless sobs it was eerily silent and peaceful.

None of this would have happened if I had been paying attention.