An unfinished short tale rests below, frozen in its own time, and space, but first perhaps the longer intro to where it started.
Waiting, anchored hard up against the ice, no feelings left in my hands, feet. Hell I’m even afraid to blink as each avalanche rolls by without even asking how I’m doing, the grounds incessant quaking, sending ice, rock, and snow barrelling down this mountain. I watched as my two mates lives became shredded from the rope, which now just flails about in rough and tumble the mountain weather now brings.
I may need this rope soon, saying to myself while hauling hand over hand to gather the 200 feet of rope at my hip. Then it cracks again, breaking more of the mountain away up above, thundering past, a huge boulder, dam I could of used it, for what I’ve no idea. How long before this overhang gives way, I need to be gone from here, take me somewhere like home, I scream, however I’m still freezing, and alone on a dying mountain, as the weather continues to cut through every part my motionless struggle. Anchored to solid rock as each bone rattles to the disorganised pulses of violence.