Construct

An unknown person climbs a hill

[I have not written anything for 25 years, but for therapeutic reasons I wrote this. I am curious to see if it speaks to anyone. It is not 'good' but I don't have the heart to change it.]

The climb is not arduous but it is long. The night sky still lingered in the early pre-dawn when I had first set step to the damp grass of the slope's bridle trail. The seeping cool of moisture soaking through the fabric of my shoes, the pale light starting to permeate the sky illuminating the uneven ground and the darker, muddier track in a ghostly half-light.

The slope blocks the world to my left - a monolithic shadow looming above. To my right, the undulating hills that surround this basin are walls that frame the dark, bruised purple skyline and hide the dawn that cracks an unseen horizon.

I don't have a name; or if I do then I do not recall it. My first memory; the first solid fact of my existence, is of this sky, this shadowy hill, and the need to press forward.

The climb is not arduous but it is long and the chill wind is bitter against my face. The path switches back and forth as it winds a shallow path up the steep hillside. Mud slips treacherously under foot, such that my pace must be slow and sure. There should be birdsong now, as the dawn begins it's unseen journey beyond the basin. But there is only eerie silence. Unsettled, my mind screams 'danger' though precisely why eludes me.

The disquiet settles in my heart like lead, while ahead the trail follows the contour of the hill, leading into a dense copse that tumbles across the hillside like a cancer in the dull light: dark and foreboding and though the wind eases as I step between the first twisted branches the air chills and water drips on my shoulders.

And still, all is quiet but for a dripping patter of water striking dead leaves. The smell is a lively putrescence. In my mind's eye I can see a vast network of mycelia drinking greedily, fungi blooming on rotting wood and under the leafy floor with inhuman voraciousness.

I have never seen a mushroom as far as I am aware, but the image haunts me, still. I strain my eyes trying to detect signs but it is too dark. What little light exists does not penetrate the gloom of the trees. And there is too much detritus under foot. I will never be sure of avoiding those insidious, spore bearing fruits.

The climb is not arduous but it is long and dark and silent danger sits in the back of my mind and perches on my shoulder, watchful for any sign.

The quiet persists whilst my hands shake and my chest thumps and the lead buries itself in my heart with quiet certainty. This place is unnatural. *I* am unnatural. And I do not belong here. This is a hostile land. It is not my land and yet this ascension is my sole purpose.

I mutter to myself, of spores, of this cursed gloom, of birds that do not exist. I am surprised: I did not know I could talk. And I did not command my mouth to move. My body is not my own... is it? My shaking hands still as I mutter but my heart beats harder. I am relieved to express myself to these too dark trees but now, they do not answer. Are they supposed to answer? Trees are alive. They grow and chase the light of day. They have intent, shouldn't they have an opinion? They scratch me with their crooked limbs readily enough...
I swat the latest offending branch viciously, stung by the sudden wet slap to my face that I never saw coming.

"Speak, you cursed trees! Would you have me believe I am alone here?" Gods, don't let those mushrooms speak, though.

My shaking returns, doubled as I stumble over a root and slip carelessly on the mud slick leaves. I reach for the tree to support me but the branch snaps and I tumble to the ground, with a painful slap of cold palms on the mud and Stone and wet leaves.

"Am I alone, then? Where are the birds with their guiding chorus? Where are they?" I lean my forehead in the mud, feeling the stones pressing into my skin, the damp crawling into my clothes, the utter silence but for my own breath. Who am leven talking to?

My body knows this place, it is familiar. But it is alien and that alien terror creeps, now, up my spine. There is some missing piece, some missing interface between me and my body. Whoever I am. I am... fractured. Something is wrong.

I place my hands firmly against the wet, slippery ground and push myself up. The stones recede from my flesh, their absence strangely saddening. As though they connected me to this place.

I stand once more and breathe in the wet, musty smell of damp woodland. I shiver at the musty smell and the thought of spores entering my body, and step forward.

The path is a little clearer, now. The dense black foliage now gray shapes in shifting patterns. Trees are tall figures lurking in the shadows in galling silence. My feet are timid as I press forward and soon I see a thinning of the dark veil. Straggling trunks with spindly foliage pattern a dull grey sky beyond.

There is relief at the sight and uncertainty. These silent trees, I feel, guard the secrets of who I am, about my purpose. To leave them behind is to leave the chance of knowing.

I step out, regardless, wind growing once more to steal the measly warmth from my head. I blink in the light. I have missed the dawn. The sky now is a velvet blanket of grey clouds.

To my left the ridge of the hill rises in parallel to the trail. At last, I can see the sky there, and a tantalising sign of the world on the far side: the swaying tops of trees spilling down *that* side. To My right, the distant peaks of the taller hills enclosing the basin are bathed in light. Each unique and dramatic as they look down upon me. They catch my eye as I walk on, diverting my attention from the ridge to my left lying off the beaten path.

The climb is not arduous but it is long. *It is not arduous*, so why do I feel this way?
The path is straight and clear. As the ridge undulates the peak comes into view. A proud stone cairn stands alone amongst sparse yellow grass; the path winds around the peak. I am reluctant. I take one step into the wild grass, the wet clinging to my leg. soaking the material.

A second step, off the path, towards the cairn, towards the peak. slowly the ridge gives way to a view of the plains beyond. A wild and untamed landscape expanding away to Mist shrouded Mountains on the for horizon.

The wind whips at my face. The clouds beyond the hills parting to allow golden light to bathe the hill in a soft, warm glow at odds with the chill wind. I step finally onto the peak battered by a wind that whips the heat from my wet clothes.
There is no revelation. I stand alone and unknowing.

Unknown to myself. Unsettled, still. This world still silent. The birds remain absent. And here, exposed, the dark woods near by; my mind reels, whirling and crying "danger!" though there is none to be seen.
The wind is sharp and blinding. My shoulders scrunched up. But now, with no answers, I force my shoulders down, my face up and invite the chill to take me. I look around. The old peaks of the basin familiar but ... odd. As I stare, from peak to peak, miles distant I spot solitary figures. Some standing tiny and indistinct but there, like me, with others appearing as I watch, rising on the skyline, minute and clear.

This is no answer but I know that I am not alone. I know there is a pattern here that I am too close to see it. I raise a hand into the air to signal these brethren and ... wake.

I wake to the dark. To the blind valley in which I have always existed. The hills around me blocking everything from view in this dark, night. I must press forward. I place one step upon the damp and muddy bridle trail that leads up the foot of the slope.