The mountain jutted like a dagger from the earth, a pinnacle of grey in a world of brown. It was all sharp angles and vertical drops, the deadliest of climbs.
But still they attempted it. To even try to climb the mountain was worthy of honour.
If anyone ever reached the top, they would praised above all others, chosen of the gods.
So he pressed on, climbing with pick and rope. Even when his muscles burnt and the wind threatened to dash him against the ground, he pressed on.
At last, he stood upon the tip of the mountain and beheld what none of his people had beheld before: another world, all around him, a world of heights that made the mountain look like nothing, that made his people look like nothing.
He stood there, not knowing whether to laugh or weep.
Word Count: 142
This is for Flash Fiction…
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