With infinite care, I peeled one eye open, then the other. The afternoon sun was low behind the tall trees surrounding me, and I guessed that it was almost sun-down.

My first recognition was that I was lying on my back, my left arm awkwardly placed behind my head, pain coursing through my shoulder and leg.

My only feelings were confusion and edginess as I turned my head slowly, as not to make the agonizing pain in my arm and leg worse. I was instantly absorbed with panic. There were tall trees surrounding the rock shelf that I was lying on, swaying in the gentle wind. Below me lay the ground, metres and metres’ drop from where I was. I bit the inside of my cheek, breathing heavily as I stared down at the tiny lake and exotic trees beneath, a wave of nausea rolling over me at the sight.

I turned my head the other way and the cold hand of fear gripped my heart. Lying next to me was my mother, her long, brown hair which had always been beautifully cared for, spread around her limp body. Her face was so pale it frightened me; the entire colour had drained from her lips. A long, red graze across her cheek contrasted starkly with her ghostly white face. As my eyes examined her slim figure, I gasped as I noticed the painfully awkward position of her leg, so unlike her neat and collected self, and knew that it was badly broken.

“Mum…?” I squeaked feebly.

The sense of terror and panic inside of me was so overpowering I could hardly think. I tried to take deeper breaths to calm myself, but they hitched in my throat hopelessly. I picked up her wrist closest to me, telling myself to calm down and see if I could feel a pulse. With two fingers, I felt for a rhythm, wondering helplessly what I would do if I could not find one. My heart fluttered in my chest as I felt around her wrist, now urgently. Nothing. “Mum… Mum…” I felt hot tears prickling under my eyelids as I realised what was at stake.

I couldn’t believe that just this morning I had been on a hiking trip with my mother, chatting at ease in each other’s company.

Then I was here.

I was lying on this rock shelf, not even five feet wide, a fall of what seemed like thousands of metres looming below me. Solid ground was, I guessed, more than ten metres above me; I had no hope of climbing back up the cliff face.

A salty tear trailed down my cheek. For the first time in my short-lived life, I realised I was truly alone. As I closed my eyes, willing sleep to overtake my stiff, weary body, I heard a shout. I don’t know if I was delirious or not, but I was positive that it was my father’s voice calling my name, and it was close.

“Aimee!”

Amazing! Great work is what this is. I love how well detailed it is, and you really caught the heart of losing someone. You definitely described the sense of panic well, and your writing style reminds me of one of my friends.