Montevideo

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a short story I wrote about a mountaineer.

Submitted: October 04, 2006

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Submitted: October 04, 2006

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He saw the mountain the far off distance. There it was, in all it's ancient glory - taller than all the giants of the land, older than the languages the people spoke, and more powerful than any king or queen. It's intimidating size was cut down by the light sprinkling of eternal snow on it's peaks and ridges, the occasional flower that grew in between the rocks, and the way the sun laid its warmth upon the rock.
Before long, he had reached the mountain's old feet. The entire base of the mountain was wrapped in a blanket of trees, which were replaced further up by the mist that gently caressed the midriff of the mountain, like immortal cotton wool. The sun in the sky was leaving in fear of the moon and the stars, so he set up camp for the night, planning to conquer the mount once and for all, in the morning.


And then the morning rose, and the mountaineer woke. He stood up and scanned the landscape - wide, clean, untouched by the dirty hand of urban society. The sun beamed down onto the pure snow, onto the forest lower down, casting shadows onto the land. On he climbed, up towards the highest peak, from where he would see the world as if he was a majestic eagle, freer than most. The mountain was a monster of rock, snow and ice. Where the snow did not blanket the stone, tiny flowers of all worldly tints grew shyly out of the cracks of the ancient mount, fed only by the melting snow in the sun's warm glare.

As he stopped at the peak, to catch his runaway breath, he saw the defeated mountain, and a toothy grin stretched across his frostbitten face. He reached for a flag of deep red, and held it up high. The flag fluttered gently in the little wind that was, and firmly planted it, like a spear, into the snow and rock of the peak, a standard of the conqueror jubiloso de la montaña. He then walked towards the edge, as far as his brain would sanely allow him to be, and he closed his eyes, and he stood there. Quiet. Contemplative. He was the mount's one and only conqueror.



© Copyright 2018 Niall McKenna. All rights reserved.

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