| “Oh no you don’t!!” Michael’s eyes sprang open. Melissa was on her knees, holding onto his wrist. “Melissa......eh......what.....are you d.....oing.” “Returning a favor you gave to my best friend a year ago. Now you try, and I’ll pull you up. Come on, now, it ain’t your time to go.” “Melissa, the mountain......the mountain won. Let......let it have me.” “No. It only wins if you let it.” Sarah knelt down besides Melissa. Neither of them paid any attention to the hail welting their faces. Sarah took his other hand, and on a count of 3, they pulled him up. He fell onto the rock, coughing, unbelieving he was still alive. “Let’s go.” Melissa said. Together, the girls stood him up, and, with much labor, began a to trek into the mouth of the beast. Michael looked back once, at the summit lost in the vapor. A sigh let out of him. He turned around to try to escape the Raven of his dreams, the Norman Bates of his home, the Hannibal Lecter of his mind, and the storm of his life. They began moving across the wet slope, slowly crawling over large rocks and boulders, Melissa and Sarah helping Michael wherever they could. They got back to Heartbreak Ridge. The lightning was striking about more regularly. Michael began to see people running about in his vision. They would run light-footed a little ways, then get struck by lightning, blowing them into little pieces that got lost in the rain, hail, and wind. Sometimes the people looked the same. Funny little people. He stumbled down the slope. He felt himself moving too fast on the downward trail. Like floating. Floating in a whirlpool. The rain danced across his face. He felt like he was walking in a refrigerator with a sprinkler in it. Melissa was worried. Michael had a glazed look on his face, as if the storms intensity didn’t register with him. He stumbled down the slope, faster, faster and faster. Melissa and Sarah were struggling to catch up with him. Below he could see the treeline. Closer and closer. CRACK!!! The bolt sprang down, and with horror Michael felt a electric ferocity slam down behind him. He stumbled about 25 more feet before he could stop, running himself into a bush. He looked back. There on the hillside lay Melissa, with Sarah standing over her in dread wonder. God no. Michael raced back up the hill, pushing hail and sleet out of his eyes, swiping bushes and boulders. He came to Melissa’s side. Her breathing was irregular, and she was gasping and writhing on the ground. She was black in spots. Michael quickly began CPR. Her breath became more irregular and reckless. Sarah desperately tried to calm her. Melissa twitched and her breathing stopped. No. Michael pressed down on her chest. 1..2..3..4..5... No breath. 6..7..8..9..10... The storm beat them like rags. 12..13..14..15 Breathe. His lips pressed to hers, not in any romantic interest, but in a deep, personal longing for her to survive. 1 breath. 2 breath. She choked. “COME ON, Melissa!!” Michael yelled over the storms howling. Michael picked up her limp frame, threw her over his shoulder, and began down the hill, at a slightly more controlled pace. Sarah was amazed at how he had gone from a near incapacitated victim to hero, all on the power of friendship. She followed him down, carrying Melissa’s stuff. Lightning cracked again. Michael willed his tired body to make it. He would not let his friend die on him. She was an honorable person, with her whole life ahead of her. Life is always full of storms. The secret is to not only overcome them, but to use them to your advantage. He dashed down the hill. He could feel Cindy’s feeble sobs below him. His heart ached as he understood the tremendous angst she had just undergone. He began to cry his own soft tears that hurt for her. Tears that hurt with her. The storm had a rage that encompassed the few survivors stranded on the mountainside, but it was nothing compared to the storm of turmoil his soul was feeling. He had never felt this way about anyone ever before. Suddenly, the heat of the moment, and the brief relent of the hail, caused him to stand up, raise Cindy to him, and embraced her. No kiss, but the most passionate hug he had ever given. Then, before her bewilderment could escape to rational thought, he picked her up in his arms, yelled a battle cry, and plunged down the mountain. He was prepared to save the angelic lady in his arms. The others in the rocks noticed his bravery, and quickly followed after, before the hail returned. The passion, the intensity, the emotion, the potency, and the brilliance of that moment in time was immeasurable, when the specter of fate and destiny line up in the favor of a being or entity beyond the yarn woven into forming our paths and our pictures. As Michael carried her, the path before him seem to lose its treachery, almost as if divine predestination wanted him to survive the mountain. He walked down, like a man out of a dream, living in a world as unreal as our own. He did not see the storm. He was beyond the storm. The hatred that had looked to destroy him, had instead invoked a bond greater than human strength. He walked down the trail. Ahead of him the treeline and safety. Almost there. He was nearly 25 ft. away. Faster. 20 ft. Closer. The heavens clashed all around. 15 ft. The heavens sprang one final assault. The lightning bolt burst through the gray blanket, penetrated the rain, and struck the tree nearest Michael. The surprise caused his foot to slip. Mud and grime flung up, as he stumbled over backwards. Cindy screamed. He landed on his back on a soft patch of mud. Cindy flew out of his arms. He heard her head hit the stone. He saw her body go limp. No. God no. He rolled over and crawled to her, muck and clay covering his body and face. No. God no. He crawled to her body. She was motionless. Her hair was wet. With blood. The memory stabbed his heart. As he shifted Melissa’s gentle body, he wiped away a tear with his arm. That was the most horrible point in his life. He couldn’t imagine how he got through it. And now, the mandibles of disaster closing in, he felt as if the nightmare were complete. His life now demolished. He would become a patient at some mental institution, drooling on himself, and wearing diapers. Hopeless. He stopped. Below him was the treeline. About 25 ft. to go. He took his steps slow. The hail had returned. His welted face was swollen to the point that pain became a usual visitor. 20 ft. to go. Water ran down the trail. He picked his footholds carefully. Here he was, at the pungent, sanctified spot of his most gut wrenching dreams. The place that started it all. 15 ft. to go. The ground was peppered with golf ball hail. He slipped. Caught himself. 10 ft. to go. He looked Cindy over. He was too numb for tears. He instead picked her up, and took her in his arms, placing a hand over the head wound, and carried her to the treeline. Once under the shelter of a tree, he removed his back pack, and took out some Band-Aids. He peeled the protective layer off of one and searched Cindy’s scalp for a cut. He found one. On the back of her head. And it was deep. He tried to make the Band-Aid stick, but she was so wet it wouldn’t. He shivered all over with cold. The rain beat against his back. Her cherubic face had lost it’s glow. She was freezing all over. Michael lifted his head to monster of the sky and cried out in a loud voice, echoing off the hillside. He couldn’t imagine this was happening, but it was. He had to save her, but he felt it was too late. With headstrong determination, he picked her up and marched forward into the dark gloom of the forest below. And to safety. Her blood drip onto his coat. Her life force leeching out of her. Time was slinking away. And for the first time, he realized how lonely life can be. continue |