It's Still Life

3 of 27: Threshgold – a Colour once felt, not seen—the terror just before hope

Content Warning: This post discusses topics including suicide. Reader discretion is advised. If you are feeling vulnerable, please consider whether you wish to proceed.

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The Colour Called Threshgold

Her breath is steady, scarf tugged loose by the wind, and she walks along the cliff path carrying nothing but a few words folded smaller than breath in her coat pocket—stage four, terminal, six months said like someone else’s sentence, not her truth.

Felreil waits beyond the final warning sign, where the chalk crumbles into air—not moving, not guiding—just there, a hollow impression in a place that has always belonged to him and always will.

She sits near the edge—not afraid, not ready, not anything except burnt down to clarity—and she thinks not about death, but about the shape of control: how sometimes, mercy is the sharp drop of a horizon.

The sea below doesn’t roar; it holds its breath with her, and when she closes her eyes, the wind feels like a hand that doesn’t pull—only reminds her that she’s still made of matter.

Felreil steps forward only when she leans back from the edge, just far enough to weep—not because she’s changed her mind, but because choosing still hurts, even when it’s right.

And when she stands again—the cliff behind her instead of beneath her—Threshgold dissolves, bitter on the tongue, warm in the throat, and the world begins again, quietly, without applause.

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Footnote: For those who want to jump, the wind off Beachy Head listens—for those who want to live, it howls and pushes you back from the edge, and you’ll know you’re alive.

Want to go deeper and understand Threshgold? The long-form poem for this Colour is here: Read Threshgold (the poem is in the form of a stream-of-consciousness). If you haven’t read the brief Prologue (or Before) post, it might be useful in understanding this series.

Previous Instalments – To access all of the instalments on one page, please use this link

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “impression“.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.