Remember: mountains are sharp and unfeeling. The littlest stone breaks loose. It scrambles for a foothold. For a second, you look up, see birds--black kindergarten silhouettes. Then, the stone--the pebble--strikes your forehead. You fall. Scrambling, you feel the blood and and water run down your throat. Your nails scrape stone.
Nothing, the mountain whispers at you. Thundering, the rocks scream: Who are you?
Halfway down, a flat ledge catches you, holds you still. Breathing. Still breathing. Breathing. Still breathing.
drawing by Chris Hernandez