Mountaineering
Another Perfectly Lovely Story by John-Dearest
I look up from the bottom and know that I will never climb this peak. I could walk forever, I could never tire, but I know I will never reach the top. But something inside, maybe one of the more optimistic voices, is telling me I can do it. After all, it's not too high. Not a problem. Why should I think it was? So I set off, without any food, after all, it's not too high, only a couple of hundred feet. One foot in front of the other, in the usual way, I climb. But soon it becomes clear that the ground underfoot is marshy, and the going will be tough. But that is not important, for it is only a couple of hundred feet, and little obstacles such as this are easily overcome. So I continue, keeping my eyes to the ground to avoid the worst parts. Half an hour later I imagine to myself that, contrary to what my tired legs would have me believe, I am no further on. Looking up, I find that to my surprise it is true. I still haven't moved. I contemplate the possibility that I have simply been going round in circles, circumnavigating what is, on reflection, really only a small hill, rather than climbing it. But this thought can quickly be discarded, for I have been going uphill solidly for thirty minutes. Sitting on a dry patch, I try to arrange my thoughts. I eat two of the biscuits before resolving to continue. I get up and continue, this time keeping an eye on where I'm going, just in case I had been retracing my steps after all. After twenty seconds I plunge my leg into a large pool of water which goes half way up my shin. I stand still wondering what possessed me to take on this challenge. Then I remember that it isn't a challenge, it is, after all, only a small hill. Slowly, I withdraw my leg from the water. I eat another biscuit to console myself before plodding onwards, my left foot making an uneasy squelching sound every time I put it down. I continue climbing until night fall, by which time I estimate I have climbed fifty feet. I eat half the packet of biscuits while sitting in despair, then go to sleep.
When I wake up my left foot is so cold it is almost causing me pain. Instead of the dampness of my sock, all I can feel is the all-enveloping cold. I pull off my shoe and sock, hoping this will improve the situation, but the fresh wind merely makes it worse. I attempt to replace the sock but its wetness means that it sticks to my foot and my numb fingers are incapable of the necessary manoeuvres to complete the job. I somehow pull the sock halfway up my foot before giving up and tearing it off with tears of frustration in my eyes. I shove my foot into the shoe, and feel the uncomfortable soggy wetness. Getting up, I look around. During the night, I have somehow lost thirty feet. The same feeling that this is an impossible task returns, but rationality once more banishes it from my head. The tears well up, but I determinedly control them and start to climb again. The going seems easier and to congratulate myself I begin to finish off the biscuits. Suddenly the wind dies down and the sun is now free to shine through without the neutralising wind chill. Its full heat weighs down on my back. Now I regret having eaten the biscuits. The net result of the sweet biscuits and the unspeakable heat is a thirst leaving the back of my mouth dry and my tongue almost choking me. I remember with a shock that I have drunk nothing in almost 24 hours and begin to feel dizzy. I have climbed three times what I achieved yesterday within five minutes, but just as it is becoming easy I am collapsing from dehydration. I should never have eaten the biscuits. It was foolish of me. The shocking realisation that I didn't have any biscuits when I started, and so could not possibly be thirsty, arises from nowhere in my brain. I begin to weep uncontrollably. Shamefacedly, I turn back down what is really only a small hill, the tears blurring my eyes, and stagger homewards.
