She had finally made it to the top of The Mountain. So blinded by the hypnotizing horizon; she had no idea what was headed her way.
The brutal wind of reality was just beyond the clouds.
The climb hadn’t been easy. But she’d pushed through, assuming it was worth the pain.
She studied the bruises that sunk deep into her skin like an inked tattoo, and the cuts that kissed her body with truth.
It only took those few seconds of her looking down, before she realized the horizon was gone and the sky was laced in black and grey.
Her hair waved in the wind, turned to ashes and disappeared down the sides of The Mountain.
Reality had arrived.
She soon began to wonder if life in the valley was inevitable. The winds were too strong, and the climb had been too much. She needed rest— something The Mountain could only provide temporarily. She couldn’t stand alone; the winds of reality did everything but hold her up. Climbing down was no longer a choice. She’d have to.
The mountain began to crack.
She then saw it, too, was imperfect and weak. Just like her. The cracks matched the cuts that consumed her broken body.
Darkness swallowed her.
The way down would be brutal.
She wasn’t ready.
Ty so much, sweet anonymous human.
Marc Oliver by Leo Corredor