You have to take risks. You have to explore your personality, you have to burn off your tears and let yourself live. Easier said then done, what else can be a cliché? The Mountain was dragging over the lake, sending the fish into a panic and causing the birds of prey to hang onto the firm breeze with the tips of their talons. I held onto that rope, though. I held on until the sharp fibers cut into my leather gloves and my damaged skin stung, exposed. The rope was almost too thick for me to grasp, but I needed it to be. It was hauling a Mountain after all. I got it off an old farm. With the typical red and white barn. The farmer said I could borrow it, as long as it got returned. I was tired looking out of the window at that Mountain. Tired of seeing the shadows casting onto it with old oaks and buildings that I couldn’t travel to see. I imagined the way that earth would feel beneath my feet, I also imagined the smell that would whirl around my soul, candied and dense. I just wanted to be there. On that one grand Mountain that I’ve spent years staring at through my little window. And I was only slightly disappointed when my strained muscles and bitter hands pulled that Mountain through my little window, sending the gauzy glass shattering inwards. It was just as I pictured it, it was also just the same, with another young girl, tugging on her rope, bringing this Mountain towards her. She even looked like me.
Written by Alecia Writes
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Alecia Writes 
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