The Writers' Circle

The rumbling of the car woke me from sleep. Looking to my left, green hills passed by in a blur. The roads meandered in front of us, all down the mountains. 
   A soft head of golden curls rested against my shoulder. The almost angel like child's snores whispered throughout the small space. Hair, the colour of dark chocolate slumped on the side of the window. They slept side by side. In the front, I asked him where we were going. He replied, " On a journey with no ending or beginning." He had said it before, I still didn't understand. 
   The car slowed, then stopped. Opening the door he got out. Quickly following, I joined him. He stood at the edge of the road where it suddenly stopped.

As I stood with her, my legs cramped from driving, I simply watched. 
   Tumbling stones drop into the sea form the never ending cliff top. The stones disappeared into the trashing waves, as it slowly chipped away at the rough side. Grey liquid pooled at the bottom, back and forth, an aimless path repeated over and over. A cycle, like a circle. 
   Feet close to the edge, my eyes stared mesmerized. Freedom waited, just over the edge, waiting to be embraced. 
   The rain fell steadily joined by the sharp lighting as thunder came ever closer. Empty coastlines stretched out before me. Peaceful. Alone. Huge boulders periodically blotted about over the sludging mud, where emerald green moss grew freely and wild. Silence reined here, only interrupted by the frequent smashing of the waves against the rocks. 
   The stars, the moon, the sun and people. So much more important then me, an inconsequential person. Nothing accomplished, nothing given and nothing gained. It had a purpose a design. None of these included me.
   Her hand slid into mine.
"I'm coming too."
Both of our feet close to the edge, one foot in front of the other we fell. 
Oblivion.