by Michelle Z.
The young boy gritted his teeth, thrusting out an arm and grabbing onto the icy cold ledge. The merciless cold bit at any exposed part of his aching body. The boy dug his fingers into the snow, solidifying his grip on the rocky ledge, and he slowly, ever so slowly, grabbed the next ledge.
His feet, bare, scrambled uselessly as he tried to set them on a ledge. He found none, and his feet helplessly dangled in midair, threatening to pull his body down.
The boy looked at his feet, bruised and numb from climbing the snow-capped mountain. He whimpered. Part of him wanted to give up, just let go and let the wind sweep him away. No, he could not give up. The cure. They needed it. She needed it. They awaited him. She…. He promised her… He would bring her the cure, and they would be happy. Just like before the disease struck. He was going to get the cure.
The boy, fueled by determination, summoned all his power and grabbed the next edge. He kept on climbing, regardless of the frost bite or the pain. He no longer felt pain. He was no longer disheartened. All he knew was that she was waiting for him. And he would not disappoint her.
He reached the top. Gasping for breath, he rolled on to the snow covered ledge, nursing his fingers and toes. He made it. He could hardly believe it. But the cure…. He glanced around him, and spotted a single patch of blue grass growing, right in the center of the ledge he was on. He scrambled over, eyes wide and hoping, and snatched up a handful. It was like he was converted to a wild animal. In a second, he was jumping and whooping with joy, despite his wounded limbs, tearing out hundreds of grass by their roots, stuffing it into his pockets, laughing in delight.
He had the cure! He could save all of them! And she, she would be with him together forever! He could be happy again! The plague would be over! All he had to do now was to climb down!
But alas, easier said than done.