Here's the place where I'll occasionally share a random story. So...
A Day in the Mountains
(farce)
“Dad! I really-really need your help now!”
He was now hanging from a narrow ledge, covered in mold and slippery with condensation, his feet dangling in the air. He scanned the wall above him for another handhold – but there was nothing there. And the smell… damn! the smell was terrible!
“Daaaaad!” he yelled again. His heart was racing, pounding madly in his chest. There was a small foothold below and a bit to the left, and he pushed himself towards it. For a second he set the tip of his foot onto that small formation and almost dared to breathe again… but the next instant the crumbly rock gave way under his weight and bounced down the cliff, disappearing into the abyss.
He could not go up, he could not go down. He was stuck. His arms were two brackets of pain, his fingers were slowly going numb from lack of blood flow. It was only a matter of seconds now. He closed his eyes…
Then he heard a familiar hissing noise and opened them again: the end of the rope was there, waiting for him.
“C’mere, dude! Grab it!”
His father’s voice, the voice he loved –and hated– at the same time.
He let his left hand go and half-jumped, half-fell backwards, somehow managing to grab the rope. Then he closed his eyes again and held for dear life as his father was pulling him up. He felt himself being rolled over a smooth edge and then he was finally safe. He stayed there for a long while, shivering with dread and exhaustion.
Apparently oblivious to his son’s desperate state – or maybe that was his way of dealing with other people’s dramas – George Wilkins was half turned away from him, boiling water on a portable gas stove. Then the tea was ready, and his wife Liz and his daughter Penny popped up from behind a stone, sharing a joke and laughing merrily.
“Hey boys,” said Liz, “how was your climb?”
Her eyes fell on her son and she froze. By now he was sitting on the small plateau, his arms wrapped around his knees and was quietly gazing into the distance.
“Fred, baby! Are you OK? What happened?”
Even Penny had the decency to look a bit worried. And it was, really, all that Fred had wanted, only seconds ago – to be pitied and hugged and consoled. Except that – he hated being pitied and hugged and consoled. With no small effort he managed to break the spell and shrugged the question.
“Nothing really, just a bit tired. Are you going to drink your teas, or what?”
Penny rolled her eyes and all of a sudden everything was back to normal.
And from there it was more or less smooth hike. They’ve traversed a jagged, yellow, boulder-strewn ridge, then they made their way over a couple of heavily forested hills – where the smell was so bad that they had to tie handkerchiefs over their mouths. This area was crisscrossed by deep ravines which they, more often than not, chose to avoid, but once, out of sheer boredom, Fred decided to jump across one of them and just barely succeeded.
Finally, they reached the edge. It was amazing to just stand there, face the strong winds and lose yourself in the vast gray nothingness beyond. So they did that for a short while, feeling their bodies fill up with adrenaline. Then they did a last minute check of the parachutes and they jumped, tumbled through the air and screamed with joy. Not much later they landed, this time on a perfectly smooth gray field, considerable distances between them. Using his communicator, George made sure everyone is in their designated spots, then pressed a button on the small device he had in his breast pocket, marked with the inscription “Unshrink.”
***
“Phew!” snorted Liz, bending to look over the piece of cheese. “It was interesting enough, but I surely won’t miss the smell!”
“Or the slime,” added Penny, mockingly wiping her palms against the thighs of her jeans.
“Oh, stop being such crybabies!” said her father. “And I feel like sailing, so next time let’s try a watermelon!”
May 2015