Once upon a time… there was a little girl.

A girl still growing into her skin, a girl different than the rest. She was taller than her peers, all elbows and knees and bones. Her face? Peach shaped with a smattering of freckles lightly kissing her cheeks. Her long, tangled hair? Burnt auburn. Her smile? Like the sun coming out from a cloud. She was a year or two past the point of cute, with ears too large and eyes too green and neck too long. Ah, but those who knew how these things went and knew a bit about patience, knew that in time, she would transform into the most beautiful woman to have ever graced their presence. 

But not yet.

Soon. But not yet.

This little girl lived in a little village right on the edge of a very tall cliff. The cliff ran as far as anyone knew in either direction. One could walk for days with the cliff on their left and it would remain. Old Kraggy had done that in his youth, walked for eleven whole days north until he ran out of supplies and had to forage for blueberries and lunaroots, stuck gnawing upon and sucking down the sweet and bitter gifts of the forest on his way back home.  Eleven days north and by his honest accounts, so help me friends! The cliff remained. Or one could walk south with the cliff on their right, similar to what Margo the Mad had done last year. She had walked for twelve days, vowing to beat Old Kraggy’s record. She had not found any berries on her return trip, only apples, narta nuts, and pissco bark. Twelve days south, past four other villages, a swamp, and countless rolling hills. I tell you all! The cliff remained.

Every day after her chores were done the little girl would wander to the edge of the cliff. She would sit as close as she dared even though her parents would tell her every night, the cliff is dangerous! Why do you go so close? Aunt Margret saw you right up near the edge! 

In response to their hysterics the little girl would ask her parents calmly … what was beyond the cliff?

Nothing. It was the end of the world!

The little girl never liked that answer. Mountains have tops and rivers have ends, she would say out loud. The cliff must have a bottom.

No! Her parents would rebuff. It does not. Please do not venture near it tomorrow. It will only bring harm.

The next day after straining her parent’s hearts with worry… she would try her best… and sometimes she would succeed. She would succeed for two days, for three. For a whole week! But eventually… inevitably… her curiosity would get the better of her and she would return to the cliff. 

She didn’t know why… but somewhere in the deepness of her heart she felt that great beyond calling to her. There, at the edge of her village, at the edge of the precipice, the sky was huge! Clouds for as far as she could see. Clouds sometimes above. Clouds always below. A great blanket of clouds below her feet as far as she could see! Maybe her parents were right. There was no bottom. Only clouds. Some days the blanket beyond the cliff was white, light and happy, cotton and cream. Other days they towered and swam, giants billowing and crashing among their brethren. Others, they were flat and formless. Still other days they were angry, churning, black balls of hate and venom.

Those were the days she loved the most. 

The little girl had asked others about the cliff. Asked Laura Nightingale with her seven youngsters all around her ankles and up in the trees if she knew what was beyond the cliff or if there was a bottom. Laura laughed as her youngest cried. Nothing and no. Do your parents know what you’re up to, little girl?

She asked Potter Pots as he pounded iron in his blacksmith shop, have you met anyone who’s been past the cliff? Past the cliff? Why would anyone want to go past the end of the world?

She asked Old Kraggy and Margo the Mad, why had they walked along the cliff for so long? What had they been looking for? Old Kraggy smiled with his three remaining teeth, why, for the corner. The corner?

“Eye!” He placed his grizzled old finger shakily on the edge of his table. “If ‘r cliff here is the edge to nothin’, up there,” he pointed at the far end of his table, “there be another cliff. A cliff to the north. See! We live somewhere around ‘ere, you see, and if I find the corner, I can map out how large the whole world is. E’cept, I ran into a whee bit o’ trouble. Fif’y ‘ears ago. wolves and ‘orse.” He shuttered and his eyes lost their focus.

“Wolves and ‘orse.”

Margo the Mad’s answer was equally pointless, going on and on about how Old Kraggy had gone on and on for her whole childhood about his journey, told her and her siblings about everything he had seen and how it had changed his life. She had grown so tired of those stories she had wanted to prove her grandfather wrong. He had been wrong! There was nothing exciting out there, nothing worse than wolves! Nothing but thistles and rocks. She had gone on further than him, a whole day further and found no corner, no wolves, nothing worse than two sore feet.

Don’t waste your time, little girl! It’s all a waste of time.

The little girl didn’t think so. The little girl didn’t know what to think.

The seasons changed from the oppressive heat of summer to the cool winds of fall. From the early winter storms to the deep cold of the twilight days. The great expanse of the stars and sky, the field of clouds, and the endless cliff watched on silently as a new year began. Songs were sung, gifts exchanged. The snow melted. The trees began to bud. Crops were planted. The villagers continued on with their rhythms of life.

For a whole year, the little girl looked out over the cliff and pondered. Pondered deeply. She had thought about her place in the world. She had thought about the meaning of life. She had thought about the ant and the crow, the trees with their fruit, and the trees without. She had fretted over her parents’ worry and laughed along at their joy. She had left her post on the cliffside to play with friends and had left friends to return to her solitary watch on the edge of the cliff, alone. And after all her time looking out over those clouds her parents seemed correct. The world very much did seem to end there. The rocks were cracked and loose, the edge itself an imperfect, jagged thing. Even so, the little girl grew used to sitting upon that edge, her feet dangling into the nothingness below. Feeling the freedom of space which lay just out of reach. Even if there was nothing beyond, she could still enjoy it, just as she could enjoy the feeling of sunshine on her cheeks or the thrill of splashing in puddles.

Not everything needed a purpose.

Somethings could be an absolute waste of time, and that was perfectly fine.

This cliff, was perfect as it was. This cliff, was hers.

But…

If the world ended… why were there clouds? Why not just nothing?

And if there are clouds… there had to be something below the clouds? Right? There were clouds above her head sometimes… and she was below them… something had to be below those below her. Or was it simply more sky? A sky above and a sky below?

And!

If there was a sky below, maybe there was a world below, a whole upside-down world on the bottom of her world just like hers! And maybe there was another little girl in that upside-down world looking up at the same clouds as she was looking at now, looking up instead of down, looking over the rim of her own upside-down cliffside. Just like her.

If only there was a break in the sea of clouds! She knew in her heart of hearts that was why she looked on. One day, someday, the clouds had to part. She wanted to be there when they did, wanted to be at the edge and confirm through sight what lay beyond, be it something or nothing.

That is why she watched.

A few months ago, the little girl had worked up the courage one day, after a great many days of wondering… and had thrown a rock over the cliff. Her parents had told her to never do that, but she did it anyway. It had been during the deepness of winter, when the air was glass, and you could hear the slightest twitch of a rabbit’s nose for miles. She had waited for her rock to make a sound, to acknowledge its arrival at the … something… below the clouds.

And waited.

And waited.

Either her ears were too numb from the cold, or the rock had been too small. Or It had indeed found nothing. It soon had become a game to her, throwing rocks as far as she could when no one was watching, witnessing them sink into the clouds below, into the nothingness below.

Tiny explorers into the unknown.

Maybe her friend in her upside-down world was catching them? Maybe they had found the bottom? Maybe they simply fell into the great beyond at the end of the world and were still falling… and falling… and falling… and falling.

At least they knew. They had the chance to do what she could not.

She envied those rocks.

Eventually though… it happened.

It happened on one particularly lovely late spring afternoon as she kicked about the idea of what lay beyond for the umpteenth time, her face screwed up in thought. Something new happened. Or something she had never witnessed before.

Out of the sea of clouds a bird dove up, twisted, then dove back down.

The little girl blinked. Had she imagined the bird? No… no, it had been there! 

She strained and focused on that spot, her whole body leaning dangerously far off the edge as she willed the bird to reappear. It did not. She stared at that spot, hopelessly, until the sun spread its rays over the sea of clouds then sank beyond the horizon, engulfing the world into darkness. She remained watching until long past the point of sanity, long past the point where she could even see her hands in the gloom.

Everything had changed.

With that thought, the little girl’s still state shattered. Shifted from a stone-still statue to lightning! Fluid, overpowering, she dashed between the buildings as fast as her legs could carry her.

She had to tell her parents what she had seen!