Staredown



He broods.

The mountain broods back.

The mountain wins.

It always wins. It has more time, more patience. It’s harder than he’ll ever be. He can feel himself dashed to pieces against it. It has all the time in the world. Time to kill . . . it didn’t even notice when it killed her.

He didn’t go to her funeral. He should have gone . . . he wanted to go . . . but he didn’t dare turn his back, not while the killer was lurking out there. He was trapped – and he’s still trapped up here, stuck in a staring contest with an intractable, unrepentant killer.

Grounded



The worst part hasn’t been her loss, or the conviction that he caused it somehow. That’s just a distraction from the real torment.

The worst part is the fear. Looking up at the mountain every day, feeling it waiting for him, waiting to finish the job. Knowing he’ll never be able to make the attempt again. The mountain won’t leave him alone.

But he doesn’t dare leave. If he gives up and goes away, he’s beaten. It’s already got him pinned, slammed against unyielding fear. The heights are barred forever – he probably can’t even go hang gliding any more.

Grounded.

Walking on Air
(double drabble)


The disastrous dive off the barn roof – one busted bike, two busted arms – planted the seeds. He was young to learn just how badly things could hurt – physical things; he’d gotten the other lesson even younger.

Since then, it’s been a seesaw between fear and fascination – he gritted his teeth and learned mountaineering, mastered a parachute, got through flight training. The small aircraft were the worst. The hang glider was always the best.

Till her death nailed the loser end of the seesaw tight to the ground, the weight of an entire mountain hanging around his neck. Without a brutal push, he’d never have gotten up to confront the killer.

And now . . .

He’s given the mountain its next victim. Is it satisfied? Is he?

In front of him, above and below him, infinite sky. The weight is gone from his chest, torn away when the other man fell and he did not. The breath of the mountain is rich with life, green smells from the thick forest below. His arm and face are bleeding, his heart is racing, he’s as alive in this moment as he’s ever been.

The next moment can look after itself. Right now, he could fly.

FANtastic drabbles! Starts you out low and cold, and lifts you up all the way to the sky! What a thrill!

And, oh, to remember that smile that Mac gives us, just before he gets ready to climb again...! *sigh* I can just see it.

Well done, Beth!

Wonderful drabbles please write more.