This week on Writers Island the prompt was The Journey. Here’s my short story:

Andrea’s Journey
By S.M. Toy

Her fingernails were filthy. One was broken, another chipped from having pulled her body across the uneven, scrubby ground. There were rocks of all sizes she hadn’t expected and, in reality, the going had been much more rough than it looked from a distance.

Rather than rush, exhausting herself, Andrea had taken her time, stopping to rest after each stretch of the arms, her limp body following unwittingly behind as she pulled it forward each time. Getting to the edge had been more difficult, and taken longer, than she’d calculated. She’d expended a lot of energy covering that last fifty feet of ground. A short distance, really, but she had little strength left in her upper body, and now even less after all the exertion.

She looked back at the abandoned wheelchair, now resembling an empty prison cell from which the inmate had recently escaped. Draped over seat and armrest, the blue blanket’s corner flapped loose in a sudden refreshing breeze, as though it were waving her on.

Andrea gulped at the air, its strong scent of sea-salt helping to brace her as she pushed her torso up and sat, almost upright, or as best as she could, propped on hands and arms securing her to the ground.

She gazed out at the sea. It was calm for that time of year. The others constantly discussed the weather – most people in her life seemed to have nothing better to talk about – and said that the storms this year were long overdue; everyone expected they’d be in for a doozy soon. Maybe though this would be the year of no storms at all. She’d heard it happened before, but that was unusual.

Keeping a fixed gaze on the horizon, she resisted looking over the edge for fear of losing her balance. She wasn’t ready yet. The sixty or so feet of sheer cliffside met the sea abruptly at the bottom. She remembered that. There was no beach, no boulders strewn in the surf, just the water incessantly crashing against the shore’s steep wall. It was the perfect place.

The wind speed was increasing. Andrea’s stringy, blonde hair whipped around into her face. She couldn’t chance removing a hand from the soil long enough to hold back her hair, so by shaking her head and facing into the wind she managed to clear her face.

A smile crept across her lips. She must have looked like that famous painting as she’d inched away from her chair – the one of the woman in the field. Christina’s World? That was it; she was sure, but she couldn’t remember the artist’s name. Andrea had liked the colours in it; they were very soothing, very Prairie, but she could never relate to the subject. At least, not then when she first saw the painting. But now things were different, although the Christina in the painting had been crawling back towards her limited life, while Andrea was making every attempt to escape the trap hers had become since the accident.

Looking back again at the stretch of ground she’d covered, not very far at all, but further than she’d travelled alone in quite some time, she said out loud, “Andrea’s World.” The wind ripped the words out of her mouth almost before she’d finished speaking. The sudden sound of her own voice made her laugh. Like the lower half of her body, it had been unused for so long. Yet body and voice were not exactly alike because she’d been silent by choice. For what? Almost two years now? My how time flies. She laughed at the thought, but didn’t speak out loud again. All along she’d realized it had been better, no easier, to let them think her faculties were paralyzed, not only her legs. Now the surprise-sound of her voice had scared her. She pursed her lips, keeping any further words to herself.

But time was passing; the sun would soon set. She’d have to decide, to finally make up her mind, now that she was actually faced with the ultimate choice and no longer simply fantasizing, planning her “leap of faith” as she’d come to think of it, even though she’d held little to no faith throughout the living time of her life.

She shifted her hands, easing the weight on them. The right one, propped to the side and slightly behind her body, bore the greatest load. And, unused to any kind of movement at all, let alone strenuous, what muscles remaining in her arms were already stiffening. She couldn’t leave it much longer.

The orange sun began its descent into the sea, the cloudless horizon promising a spectacular finish to the day. Without having really planned out this part ahead of time, she could now time it perfectly, slipping over the edge at the same moment the sun disappeared. That possibility hadn’t occurred to Andrea during the time she was thinking of her exit, but getting to this final perch had taken longer than expected – first by wheelchair and then, after that became stuck on a rock and loose dirt, by sheer force of will. Unfortunately, the wheelchair would have to be left behind, marking the spot for anyone who came searching. Nothing could be done about that now. Likely they’d find her body sooner, but it would still be too late.

Andrea squinted at the final sharp brightness of the sun as it went out in a “blaze of glory,” ending with the blip of a green flash. A single involuntary tear coursed down her cheek.

Then voices broke through the constant sound of crashing waves.

“Andrea! There she is, Jim!”

In sudden panic, Andrea glanced around and lost her only window of opportunity. Before she could move her stiff arms, or even before she had time to think, two people had raced across the open ground and reached her side. Jim crouched down, grabbing Andrea by the shoulders, wrenching her back to safety – away from her wish, and sealing her fate.

Martha shouted over the wind, “Thank God we found her!” Then looking directly into Andrea’s vacant eyes, she screamed, “How the hell did you manage to do this?”

Jim shushed his sister. “Quiet, Martha. She’s frightened.” He held Andrea so tight to his chest that she could feel the strong, steady beat of her husband’s heart.

“She’s nothing, just like usual. The elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor,” Martha grumbled, leaving them and walking over to retrieve the wheelchair.

Jim wouldn’t loosen his grip. It was as though he were afraid his wife would make an attempt to jump, although he knew that was impossible. Andrea, resignation now having settled in, watched over Jim’s shoulder while Martha fussed with the chair.

After a brief inspection, she said, “Well, this is how she managed. Some idiot didn’t set the brake. She must have got her hand stuck on the controls and motored all the way out here from the house. Heaven only knows how she got from the chair to there. The battery’s run down, too. You’re going to have to push her back,” she called out. Then, continuing to inaudibly mutter to herself, she folded the blue blanket.

Jim’s grip began to ease. Holding Andrea away from his body, but still not letting go her shoulders, he asked, “Is that what happened, Andrea? Was this an accident?” Andrea gazed blankly off to the side. After so much practise, she knew that look was convincing.

Martha came up to them, wheeling the chair. “Of course it was an accident. And you know talking to her is no use,” she said. “You won’t get anything out of her. She can’t understand a word of it.” She impatiently tucked loose strands of greasy hair behind her ear.

Not looking at his sister, Jim set his jaw. “Why weren’t you looking after her?”

“Oh, you’re not going to try to blame this on me, are you? No way! I’m just helping out here. I’m not a nursemaid.”

Jim, angry now, replied, “You’re supposed to be a companion. That’s what I’m paying you to do. Not leave her unattended. Now hold that chair steady.” He stood up and leaned over again, scooping Andrea from the ground. He whispered into her ear, “Let’s go home.”

After placing her in the wheelchair, Jim pulled back a bit and searched her face with his eyes. For just a split second, Andrea’s eyes locked on to his and pleaded with him. He blinked in surprise, but during that split-second her changed expression passed just as quickly and her eyes slipped back into their normal cloudiness. He shook his head once as though wondering if there had been a lucid moment. But then he dismissed it as impossible, visibly shrugging away the question. He moved to the back of the chair and gripped its handles.

Martha began walking away from them across the meadow, calling back, “She’s going to have to be restrained from here on in. I can’t be expected to watch her every minute.” She stopped and shouted, “You know what I think?”

Andrea heard Jim exhale sharply. “No,” he said, “I don’t know what you think, and I don’t care either.”

Still facing the sea, Andrea caught one last glimpse of the fiery red streaks of cloud that criss-crossed the sky, leftover from the end of the sunset. Red sky at night, sailors’ delight, was all that came into her mind. The colour was quickly fading though, even as Jim turned her chair around and began heading back towards home.