Gingerly, Sabrina edged her way along the narrow finger of rock, making sure that she did not look down. She pressed herself as flat as she could to the crumbling stone, clinging on tight as she shimmied forward, intent on retrieving the bag that was hanging by its handle from the point. She tried her hardest to ignore the driving rain that pelted her, and the strong winds that whipped around her, attempting to dislodge her and send her down to the fiery lava below. Lightning crackled above as it struck the grassy edge of the cliff that Sabrina had a few minutes before been standing on, when the giant seagull swooped down and snatched the bag off her shoulder, dropping its heavy weight seconds later. The blistering heat from the lava below started eating its way into Sabrina’s fingers, but she needed to get the bag.

Hold on… none of this makes sense… lava… a giant seagull… a narrow finger of rock… and what was in her bag… and why did she have it with her at the edge of the cliff… and, was her name really Sabrina… something seems very fishy about this tale; it seems a tad over the top.

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Written for Six Sentence Stories. This week, Denise’s prompt word is Hold.