“It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.”
Throughout the climb I had seen a small parting in the clouds, a strange glimmer in an ashen sky. It haunted me from dawn to dusk, like Gatsby’s green light, giving me hope when I needed it the most. Like Gatsby’s green light, this little beacon too eventually disappeared, on the night of the summit we were so far above the clouds that my talisman was no longer visible. Abandoned by hope, I climbed higher and higher with every hour. The altitude’s toll on my body grew with each passing minute; my vision narrowed, my breath grew ragged, and droplets of blood were beginning to trickle down my nose. A dear friend of mine had said I would get up and down the mountain on sheer stubbornness alone, and he was right. Determined not to bare the shame of turning back, I ploughed on, growing more weary by the step.