DEAR READERS


My story is a sad one. I flew off a cliff a few years ago. Yes,
I am that Ignatious Malone. On a summer day full of promise
and brilliant lighting conditions, I was lying on my stomach on
a slab of rock on a cliff edge in the West Country, photographing
a shipwreck. Suddenly, a shimmering whiteness came gliding
into view and there was this ethereal being hanging above me
dangling its legs. 'Oh my god!' I said. There was a crack of doom,
and I thought I heard a deep voice say, 'On the button, Sunshine,
your time has come.'

The crack was the slab splitting - doom enough, no?
I began to fall. I fell a long, long way, broke my fall, and
a leg, when I hit a ledge, then I fell some more, caught
my left arm in bushes, tore my shoulder out, spun round
and slammed into the cliff face with mine, felt my jaw
dislocate, mouth bloody, which stopped me screaming so
when I finally reached the bottom, one more broken
limb didn't seem to matter that much, especially with my fingers
bent back the way they were, snapped across, though
not all of them which was lucky because the camera strap
around my neck was choking me dead. I was just able to free
myself when I passed out from the pain, but not before the
ethereal being reappeared, floating just above me, 'Told you so,'
it said, and the next thing was that I felt myself flying through
the air, on my back, breathing through a mask. Two days later
I woke up in hospital, mummified, breathing through a hole.

It was early in the morning, so when I screamed it took a minute
before a blue nurse stopped by and stabbed me. I had three
unbroken ribs apparently, one good arm, and my internal organs
would improve with time, she said, once they relocated, of course, 

and I'd be surprised how attractive a broken nose could be,
on my face.

I saw a sweet little old nun coming  down the ward and she caught
my eye, gave a holy wave and came toward me, and I thought, 'Sister,
have I got news for you.'