Ficlets

The wind carried his cries far away, like seagulls flying up from the darkness of the cliff, splitting the black and white picture the storm had cast upon the surroundings. Beneath him the waves bashed into the grey rock, an enormous mouth with pointed grey teeth, ready to eat him, ready to receive the flesh of his body.
In a second he saw his corpse, laying broken on the cold stone, a wave picked it up and slammed it into the solid wall of the cliff. After is had fallen back the waves picked it up again to repeat the circle of throwing and falling until his body got stuck between two pointed rocks. His own blue eyes were glazed with death, some maggots fell out of his mouth.
He staggered backwards. His face was drawn from all colour. O, how he wished that he could throw himself of that cliff, putting an end to the madness. But the vision had shown a picture of the future. He knew that the time hadn’t come yet. Who was he to ignore a vision? Maybe in a few months, a few years he could finally find serenity.