The once-blue sky stood out like a blank canvas amongst a gallery of meticulously crafted masterpieces. The failed artist's fate.

The hills and cliffs projected downwards at a stupendously steep angle, jutting out ominously, so much so that any careful yet courageous climber who deviously dared descend or ascend would undoubtedly, unceremoniously, fall back down. They would fall down, down towards the ever-expanding ocean, which mercilessly ripped people from pier and park alike, forcing them under, drowning them, never once pausing to allow it's valiant victim an opportunity to take even the briefest of breaks. The failed climber's fate.

Danny, who sat upon the pier wearing his favourite blue hoodie and black running shoes, felt this was the perfect metaphor for life. Failing just short of the finish line. Which, ironically, was exactly what he had just done.

He had been running far ahead of the others when it happened. He was mere metres from the finish line. But, he had tripped on his shoelace and fallen. Fallen, and hurt his ankle. Fallen, and now needed surgery. Fallen, and failed.

He wasn't sure if he could carry on any longer. His dreams had shattered around him, and left him crushed and dejected. And it wasn't the first time, either, that he had felt like this.

Two years ago, he had been kicked out of the running club he had tried so hard to get into, because they didn't believe he was fast enough.

Pathetic.

Five years ago, in his last year of school, his PE teacher had told him to just give up, that he was the worst in his class.

Useless.

Ten years ago, the people he had thought were his friends had suddenly turned on him, and would have thrown him off the roof, had the police not arrived in time and stopped them.

Weak.

So, if he had to endure all of that, why was he still here? Shouldn't he have ended it all by now?

Yet something inside of him unrelentlessly urged him to continue. That last scrap of fighting spirit that remained, reminding him once again that whilst life threw boulders at him, there was always a way to move on. That, no matter how tough it may get, it wasn't the end after all.

With a newfound determination rising within him, Danny grabbed his crutches, stood up, and roared. He imagined the sound ricocheting off the hills, off the cliffs, and reverberating back to him. He imagined this so vividly that he truly believed he had heard it, picking him up from the depths of despair, yet all that surrounded him was a deafening silence.

Danny hadn't failed. He had no reason to feel defeated, to feel ashamed. He had set the bar for next time, and he would raise that bar higher, and higher and higher and higher, until he reached the top.

Danny would win.