Pull Me A Mountain

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

(Feedback welcomed!) 

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