Short Story A Mountain’s Remedy
It wasn’t the first time I left my home with only the clothes on my back, my wallet, and a full bottle of liquor just for myself. Except this time I had no intentions in returning to my daily life. I was only half a mile away from the summit of the mountain my small […]
It wasn’t the first time I left my home with only the clothes on my back, my wallet, and a full bottle of liquor just for myself. Except this time I had no intentions in returning to my daily life. I was only half a mile away from the summit of the mountain my small town dwells under. I had no reason to fear anyone bothering my plan for it was below freezing and the middle of a January night. I took a long swig of the fireball I had spent the last of my money on, I wanted to indulge in one of my favorite vices while keeping my body at a moderate warm before the cold did it’s bidding, or my bidding rather. I finally reached the top of the summit and sat along a boulder looking down at my memories, most of them leaving me feeling distressed. As I took another swig of fireball the wind blew across my face vigorously and without mercy. However I didn’t mind one bit, I had found myself growing more accustom to the cold for the first time in my life. The way my cold body flowing with the warm alcohol created a natural state of euphoria with the cold. My body felt numb and content. I had accidentally came across this feeling one drury night after passing out in my yard after stumbling home from the bar black out drunk. All I remember was that I was pissed when my neighbors carried me inside their house to warm me up. Ever since then the thought of freezing to death became an obsession, imagining my body slowly drifting into an empty corpse, all the pain gone. The heat reminded me of the explosions, constant change and conflict. I thought of an athlete giving themselves hell for the taste of physical achievement to an already dying and limited body. I couldn’t understand what was special about being alive, the thought of constant conflict seemed pointless and futile. Maybe I had never found anything really worth fighting for, maybe a chemical imbalance in my brain from booze had left me different from others. However with each passing day I found myself seeing human nature more and more mechanical, disguised with human emotions. Insecurities, pride, fear, anger, entire ways of life created from these feelings all out to prove something. I wondered if anyone finding my corpse on this mountain would think I offed myself in some attempt of making a point when really it was quite the opposite. I began to feel my fingers and toes go even more numb, my hopes were for my organs to shut down before any frostbite began. I looked over to the ledge next to me that was at least a sixty foot drop onto jagged rocks below. I slowly stood up and stumbled to the edge of the death trap. I took another swig of fireball and decided life wasn’t worth finishing before this bottle. Then I thought I could just curl into the snow and drift into a heavy sleep in-which I would never awaken however my fear of frostbite kept me leaning toward the cliff. I’ll admit that I wasn’t enduring this en-devour with absolutely no fear, in fact I was very afraid of the idea of falling to my death although I have thought of it countless times before. Again the cold wind blew across my body forcing me to take a long and hard shot. I felt the booze travel through my veins warming me. Then a part of me thought, why not just keep drinking for as long as possible. I could recreate this feeling at feeling at home if I really wanted too, even in the warmer months. I still had half a bottle left and was somewhat buzzed. I laid down in the snow with my legs still dangling from the ledge. I felt so warm for such a cold place. I felt a bit overwhelmed in my mind, I could make so many decisions that have so many multiple outcomes. How long could I afford my drinking habit? If I jump it’s all over now, if I try to freeze to death my chances are drastically cut but still likely, it was only getting colder. I laid down doing nothing but gazing at the stars for a good while before sitting up to finish the last of my poison. I thought of everything, every pattern in my life, every possible outcome, every feeling, and I realized as much as I understood their was just as much I didn’t understand. Maybe I was calling it quits to early, however I thought the same thing countless times before. I took another shot that quickly guided me to feeling drunk. My body high was tripped and could only imagine I looked like some junkie in an alley way that just shot up. That’s when I said fuck it and took another shot, this continued on for several minutes until there was only one shot left, luckily my years of drinking gave an iron stomach for not puking. I took the last shot laid back and slowly passed out and passed on. My last thoughts were I hope I don’t wake back up.