He leers and laughs,
Taunting and pulling at my heartstrings like old photographs.

The ledge is narrow; the cliff is steep; death is certain. It’s hard for me to lead Hector, my donkey, behind me. He stumbles a lot and is burdened by our few supplies, often bumping the pack into things as he swings along, which scares him and throws us both off balance. He’s a trooper though, and I couldn’t ask for a better companion.
When we’re lucky enough to come to a ledge that is wide enough that we have room to stop and sit without fearing for our lives, we sleep. Only for a few hours, then we’re on the move again.
Hector and I didn’t choose this, however, and we’re not the only two traveling. The rest of our “group” hikes above us, about ten to fifteen feet higher respectively. They travel along the wider ledge, where it is always at least wide enough for five people to walk hand to hand comfortably.
I am not worthy of that path, so I am forced to travel the lesser one. It’s part of a punishment I suppose, though I wouldn’t wish this on any of them.

Our destination seems to be getting farther and farther instead of closer and closer. It’s like we somehow get turned around every time we stop, forever traveling the same stretch of cliff.

There is a little blonde angel with us sometimes. She usually travels with the rest of the group, but when she can get away from the watchful eyes of her mother she cautiously slides down the side of the cliff to sit on Hector’s back. She is not scared, because she knows I’ll catch her if she falls.
Her name is Arabela. I think she is one of the only ones I like. She is the only one I love, besides for Hector-forever the loyal donkey-of course.

It is raining today. Hector and I huddle under a bit of overhang, shivering and huffing. Rain is not good; the cliff droops and spills into the valley far below us when it rains, and today it is raining heavily. In the distance thunder rumbles, lightning flashes, and the sky darkens. I step back, nudging Hector closer to the wall; it’s best to be as far from the edge as possible.
There is a scream-a horrible, bone chilling scream-from the group above us. Tensing, I wait breathlessly for impact.
Instead, a little blonde flash goes by.
The sound I make is inhuman, and I rush forward. I see Arabel snatch onto a shrubby tree, dangling by one hand.
No one in the group is moving towards her, I am disgusted. A dozen strong, healthy men up there and not one is brave enough to move to help her.
I jump. Feet catching in the sloppy soil, I slide down the hill towards the falling angel. Arabela sees me, cries out to me. There is clay in her hair and blood near her mouth, but the fear melts out of her eyes when she sees me.
I am not mentally capable of letting myself let her down. And my body follows my mind willingly as I swing towards her, grabbing her arm mid swoop.
Now that I have her, the hardest part is getting back up to Hector, who is wailing to us miserably.
A rope hits in front of me, tossed by a man from the high ledge. I latch onto it and with his help climb back up to Hector.
We reach him safely. For a moment, everything is silent. The group stares, Hector pins his ears back at them. Why aren’t they saying anything? Thank you? Good job?
Turning to Arabela, I wipe the clay and blood from her face and she smiles at me. I thank God she isn’t hurt badly, just a small scratch or two. Then I tie the rope around her waist, make sure it’s secure, and wave. Tru, the man who threw me the rope, hoists her up to the shaking arms of her mother. Now the group comes alive with emotion, huddling around Arabela and Tru, all turning away from the cliff’s edge. Away from me, as if I didn’t exist. As if Tru had done it all.