Mountain over yonder

There is a mountain just over yonder, though a fence kept it off limit.

As I rode a pony pass the electrified wires, I looked through the gaps between them and see a winding road leading to the top of the lush elevation, I wanted to climb to the top and check out the surroundings.

For I lived in an area that used to be a water basin, the hill beyond the enclosure is the only thing that stood out.

I imagined I am standing on top, bracing the howling winds and listening to the sound of natural erosion, the withering of the surrounding landscape.

The harder rock layers faced the constant winds with a firm stature, while the softer sedimentary rocks were being subjected to the surgical blades of nature. She carved this land to her liking.

All those stand in the way will be broke through. The mountains up north had been cut through in a meandering fashion by crystal clear water. The outstanding rocks on the flat planes were meet with ferocious assault, the smooth surfaces created by the battering of the deep ocean currents were redecorated by the prevailing wind arose on land.

Changes happens all the time, slow and invisible at first. But mother nature is ever patient, she has all the time in the world, crafting something that fits her fancy.

But the mountain that eluded me is a strange presence. There is no recorded history of it, not even in the folktales passed down for generations. This densely vegetated land formation seeming appeared out of nowhere.

Even the drunkard in the dusty little town a few miles away hushed his blasting voices when spoke of the mountain area in general.

I never attended the local school, few friends I have are all from the nuclear farm settlements out here in the outback, where we cow punchers indulge ourselves on our crudely made liquor, never knowing if the next gulp is going to be the last.

Letting out a large belch, I watched the mountain through teary eyes fifteen years later.

My dreams were all dashed, a lack of college education had left me no place in the ever expanding, dazzling metropolis. With the broken-down car that passed down for generations in my family, and what my landowner tossed out of the door, I arrived in this place that had been completely out of my mind for more a decade.

The signs were no longer visible, the bullet holes had expanded by metal decay, making the name they spell out no longer visible.

There is always a woman in my dreams, and I had found her yellowed photo tucked away in the old crumbling cemetery that used to be our playground. Her plain light-yellow dress brought the memories of something far off, groaning from a sudden headache, I awoke in harsh sunlight, half-baked to death.

The barrel of the rusty shotgun still sat on my lap, the damned chamber had been blocked by rust. There was a cunning little foxy that had been stealing the few chickens that I had bought cheap.

I want a damn scrambled egg for breakfast, is that too much to ask?

I feed the plump hens with the fat and juicy worms I caught from the crop field. They came in numbers, taking what little had left for this run-down farm that I had forget I might inherit from the drunk sailor.

The old, foul smelling man had sailed only on the local rivers and tributaries, he never even made it out of the state.

And it seemed like that his seed have not escaped his sorrow end. Drink to his death.

I watched the mountain that is sealed off, in my dreams I dreamed of climbing on top. But in a sweaty quilt I would awake, feverishly wanting more liquor to drawn out the memories and pain.

Sometimes I thought about leveling the mountain, but most of the times I dreamed about being on the other side of the fence, touching the trees and bushed on the other side.

But that might just all be an illusion, a computer-generated hologram, a 3-D image.

I might just be in some sort of a sluggish state, creating an alter ego, ok, that's not how this works.

Tossing the bottle clutched in my stiff hands over the fence and my eyes came upon....