The tide has changed. I'm left stranded on a ledge of rock; my rock of life. If I fall, I'll tumble into a grey, swirling sea. Waves crashing at my feet are growing higher, sending salty, white spume over my shoes. Looking upwards, I see a tower of jagged rocks; a crazy escape from death, an escape I thought I wouldn't need.

If I climb those jags, I could loose my footing and slip. If I remain, the ever rising tide will wrench me off my precarious perch and, to think that only two hours ago, I made my way up to this place that juts out like a coffee table over the sea.

Then my mind was made up. I would wait for the autumn tide to carry me off in its watery arms into oblivion. No one knows where I am. No one cares. But they'll soon know when they find my old car parked, above, on coarse grass nibbled bare by generations of sheep.

Two hours ago, ten hours ago, I hated this world. Hated all mankind. Ten hours ago, twenty hours ago, I sat in my home drinking cider. It took all those hours to make up my mind and, when I drove to this place, my determination remained solid as I parked and followed the rugged path down to the beach where I stood, watching the sky change from mottled blue to grey, listening to gulls mocking and jeering.

So I shook my fist at those gulls. Told them all to sod off. Then I clambered up the easy bit and crawled the rest of the way to this ledge. At first, I sat down and smoked a few cigarettes, dangling my feet over the edge whilst contemplating the ways of this miserable world.

Half an hour ago, my last cigarette fell from my grasp as my fingers turned white and numb. Blowing on my fingers, holding them under my armpits, it was the small warmth that made me doubt my actions, my decision.

'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' my old Dad used to say whenever some crap invention of his either blew up or fell apart. Then he'd shake his head, not bothered one bit and add, 'If you don't try lad, you'll never know.'

'Never know what Dad?' I'd ask.

'Whether you can do it or not,' he always explained.

I tried marriage. That failed. I tried working for a living. That failed too. Then I lost my home, wife and kids in a matter of six years. The kids hardly see me and when they do, they treat me like an uncle not their bloody father. So I failed at parenthood as well.

Waves pound against my legs like a million wet hands trying to pull me into their deathly clutches. My heart's thudding and I want to cry. Struggling to my feet, I look up at the cliff and imagine many smiles playing around jagged lips.

'Try it, dumb head,' those lips seems to sneer.

'Damn you!' I shout at a wheeling Gannet, and shedding my drenched overcoat, I start my ascent. It's bloody slippery. It's bloody cold. But now I know, I don't want to die.

So God, could you please give me a leg up and out of this mess, this place. I promise, God, in the future, if you give me half a chance, I'll do my very best.