I drop the last five feet to land on the rocky sand. The ocean laps at my feet leaving its lacy foam to trail the waves as they retreat. Cold, so very cold.
My eyes are shut, my chest heaving, gasping, while the ocean waves crash in my ears. Unforgiving stones claw into my bare back and my every sense is so heavily bombarded that I can take it no more. Eyes open and I see every shade from white to browns and greys before me.
Behind me the cliff face stands; a formidable un-scalable slab of marble. But I am the legendary living spider man of Brokeshire – the man who has conquered the 60-feet Forbidden Drop cliff with his bare hands. This climb down had not been without peril, but the cost of staying would have been far worse.
I stand between rock and wave, intoxicated on the breath of freedom. I long to sink down onto the sand and rest a little, but the cold water is no comfort to a man clad only in his underwear. Climbing down clothed was not an option. The vivid orange jumpsuit would have been immediately picked out by the helicopters.
Written for The Sunday Photo Fiction challenge based on photo by A Mixed Bag