THE CLIMB

You wake up early in the morning. It's still night outside. You drink coffee in the kitchen until the dawn breaks. Then you drive to the railway station. You take pictures in that small booth and get six dim photos for a few coins. You get on the train. You bought the tickets earlier. You've planned this. You ride the train and don't look through the window. The compartment is empty. The train is heading to a nearby hill, almost as big as a mountain, but goes no further because there is no tunnel. You get off and look up towards the peaks. The hill splits in two. You take one side. You climb as slowly as you can. It's not like you're going to work. Not today. You spend the day climbing. You stall. You enjoy the nature. Then it begins to grow dark and rain. You realize you have barely any strength left. You leave the familiar, marked path. You climb straight through a forest, mindlessly. It's getting steeper. Now you're in a hurry, you realize how old you are, how much you've aged in the last fifteen hours. You wonder if you'll make it. Everything is ruined if you don't. Just get to a clearing, you don't have to go all the way to the top. Your legs are failing, your body's weak, your eyes are not as sharp as before, as this morning, they're not as young and healthy. You reach for the branches, for the roots, you drag yourself between numerous thin trees... Your mouth is dry from the strain and the thirst. The forest is loud, the wind is howling. You're cold. You crawl onto a clearing from some bushes. The sky is dark blue. You manage to sit up. You glue the wet photos onto your face, all six of them, all of them identical. You carefully lie down on the ground covered in leaves. You don't want the photos to drop down from your wrinkled face. You're serene, you're not afraid anymore. You didn't even know what you were afraid of. You're not worried about your job. You're not worried about yourself. Nor your loved ones. Nor the people who know you. You're not worried about life. You just hope to forget everything.

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