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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Dark · #1605190
A metaphorical climb through the last moments of a man's life
         An orange sun slowly dove behind hills of lush green, casting a crimson glow to the sleeping clouds. A chilling breeze danced through the limbs of bare trees, emitting a gentle whisper into the silent twilight.

         Footsteps.

         Quiet footsteps across the dampened ground.

         A young man, in the prime of his years, ascended mountains of grass. Despite the cold, his chest was bare and goose bumps arose as the wind kissed his pale skin. Quickly he blinked away a tear from his swollen eyes, as blue as the sky on a summer day.

         He stopped momentarily, wrapping his arms around his chilled body.

         Hastily, he shoved his unmanaged blond hair from his face and continued forward, a look of desperate determination painted across his face. His goal grew closer with each step, but every fiber of his being begged him to retreat; to run down the hill and never look back. For only one thing awaited him at the top of the fertile mound of dirt.

         As he pushed forward, the ground, full from its drink of rain, sunk deeper. The man wore no shoes, and his toes dug into the soil, allowing him a simple grip up the step, slippery slopes.

         Again, he stopped. His hands clawed nervously at blue jeans. The top was but a few steps away.

         The wind picked up, its cold breath blowing against him as if trying to push him back where he came from. Raising a trembling hand to his lip, the man bit his thumb and stared at the top of the hill with fearful eyes.

         ‘You’ll never amount to anything!’ Shouted a hate-filled voice in his tormented mind. Grunting, he took another step forward.

         ‘It’s just been one mistake after another!’ The voice was the same. That of a woman, and older woman. The sound was similar to a cat’s hateful howl.

         ‘Try harder! If you ever intend to amount to anything, get off your ass and get to work!’ It was different; male. The tone was booming, and held a great amount of disappointment.

         He pushed onward, each step becoming a painful chore.

         ‘You’re never here! Even when you are, your mind is elsewhere!’ Female again, though not the same as before. The voice holds sorrow.

         ‘If you had just been there!’ The previous voice continued. ‘She would still be alive today! It’s your fault!’ Tears welled in his eyes, and the blowing wind lifted them away.

         The first stars begin to appear in the sky, as if eyes were opening; watching him. All watching him.

         On the nights he stared at the moon, he could swear the face held a cynical smile, just for him.

         With each step the wind appeared to push harder, and his strength faded quickly.

         ‘You’re almost there! C’mon!’ A new voice. A soothing voice. But the man listened to it with just as much hatred as he had the others.

         The top.

         The sky, painted like a canvas of orange and pink, stretched onward forever dotted by thin clouds.

         Though he had walked for what seemed like miles, the sun was no closer. It hid behind the distant hills, as if avoiding him. The moon rose to take its place; the moon and its devious smirk.

         Stars everywhere stared at him in anticipation, as if knowing what was going to happen.

         The man looked up, matching the gaze of the stars and let out a silent sigh that shook his body.

         ‘You’re so pathetic!’

         The man gulped.

         ‘I’m disgraced to call you my son!’

         He reached into his pocket.

         ‘I don’t love you anymore!’

         He pulled out a gun.

         ‘You’re just not the same person anymore.’

         The silver barrel was brought to his temple. The cold metal sent shivers down his spine.

         ‘It’ll be over soon…’ That same soothing voice spoke again.

         “I need… Silence…” The weary man whispered, and pulled the trigger.

© Copyright 2009 Connor Chaos (connorchaos at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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