Pride Cometh Before the Fall

Or, Maybe the Fall Cometh No Matter What.

Grey tied himself onto a rope that would be his lifeline for the next hour of his life. If he fell the rope would be pulled taught by his father and, unless the rope snapped, which there was almost no chance of, his fall would end, and he could continue climbing. As he started up the hard slab of 135 degree overhanging granite. He shivered, a wave of dread washed over him, he brushed it off and began to climb.

He began to scale the crack quickly and efficiently. After all, his father was above and waiting for him. He wedged his hands into the crack and remembered how his father had taught him to trust his feet and rely on his footholds instead of trying to just pull himself up the rock with brute force.

As he gracefully made his way up, he could feel the wind, so gentle before, beginning to whip up the wall. He could feel the gentle curves of the rock. He leaned into the rock, grabbed a small nub for balance, and felt his heartbeat pound against the cool rock. It was a dance between him, a small mortal person, and the wall, a giant tower that was there before him and would be there long after he was gone. He tried to find a handhold for balance and wedged his hand into the crack. The wind was stronger now, its icy tongue rasping along his spine.

He pushed off his footholds and tried to remove his hand but it was stuck! He yanked on it but only succeeded in getting it wedged further into the crack. This had happened before so he wasn't worried. His struggle caused him to sway slowly. But, unbeknownst to him, the rope was slowly rubbing against the sharp rock above him, gradually fraying the rope that held him, suspended, from falling. He struggled. His hand began to bleed, the crimson drops falling into the open air below him plummeting earthward only to be whisked away by the frigid air. He tried to call up to his father, so far above him, but his dad couldn't hear him for the wind that even now lashed his skin and stung his eyes. With one final yank, he freed his hand only to see, to his horror the rope, the one thing keeping him from falling, snap before his very eyes. He screamed, a scream that echoed across the mountains as he plunged, free-falling, into the abyss. He looked up at the blue sky and closed his eyes in acceptance of what was to be.

In the shadow of the great tower of power full rock he fell, 

screaming,

crying,

breathing,

accepting.