The Climb (Three Crow Fiction)
The Climb By Gary J Beharry
I am afraid. He speaks to me in my dreams, you see. He tells me that because of me, everyone is angry. Things have stopped working the way they are supposed to, because of my selfishness. I do not understand. I do not remember.
He says I made my choice a long time ago. I had the courage to ask him why once, why it is my fault, why I am being punished. That, I remember clearly:
I am climbing a mountain. Always. The mountain is black and there are many grooves to place my fingers in. I climb and climb, but I have never reached the top. I can never rest because the crevices are filled with dead people.
One day I looked up to the sky and asked, “Why?” The sky answered me by turning blood red. Then my hands slipped and . . . I fell.
I didn’t scream and I think he didn’t like that. I think he really wanted me to feel scared because it would have given him satisfaction.
I saw the ground right before I woke up. Only it wasn’t really the ground, it was people. Dead people. Dead people who moved. They were waiting for me, grabbing towards the sky. They scared me, not because they were dead, but because they were like me . . . running . . . running from themselves.
I have to climb faster now. You see, at first I thought the dead people were chasing me up the mountain, calling me back to them, but now I think they are following me. Am I their leader?
When I wake up, my hands always hurt. They are gnarled and chapped like an old man’s. That is how I know my dreams are real. So I keep climbing, because every time I reach a new plateau I feel something familiar, like I belong.
I don’t exactly know what I’ll find at the top but it has to be better than where I am now. I remember once, a long time ago, I heard something about the journey being more important.
Oh, there’s a Bible in the drawer here. I’ve seen it once. I haven’t opened that drawer since. But I do remember that after I noticed it, I began to hear the voice in my dreams.
So for now, I stay here in the room with the curtains drawn, resting during the day because I know what the night will bring: the dead people. They follow me into my dreams, but in my dreams, I get to climb. One day I’ll reach the top. Hopefully, it will all be over then.
Gary J Beharry can be reached at: email@example.com