Thanks for the welcome guys. I suppose I don't really feel like part of any group right now though. Here's a short story I wrote in Fall of '03. It captures a small bit of the dark feelings. Couldn't sleep--that happens sometimes. :-)
The Climb
The young man stared out into the blackness, and the dark shadowed the world. He could not see, but he could feel. Stretching his arms out in front of him, he felt cold, hard rock; behind he felt hot, sticky worm-laden soil. His breath spewed out in streaks on the night air, and his frustration fought with his fear for front and center. As he turned to the left, he felt his foot kick a rock, and heard no sound as it landed far below. He turned the opposite direction, and found himself face to face with a smooth, glassy mirror, whose dim light portrayed the gray sky that was barely visible above.
A withered, rasping, hacking voice began talking, and he turned quickly to find an old, old man peevishly grinning at him. The old man said, ?Hello, son. I have a job for you to do, and when you?ve completed this task, you?ll be happy. Take this rock, and carry it with you as high as you can climb, and then place it where you like.? The old man then handed him the rock, and a small hammer to bust and climb his way to the top. ?And remember,? the man said, ?I?ll be watching everything you do.? With a fiendish laugh, the old man disappeared.
Although frightened, the young man felt somehow comforted that someone had felt him worthy of such a task. He felt the rock with his hands, and felt some letters etched in it. He could not read them, however, because the darkness was so vast. He tied the rock to his back with a rope he used as a belt, and began climbing the rocky wall. For endless hours he struggled to find handholds, using his hammer to bust crevices in the damp darkness. His fingers bled and his mind ached, but on he struggled. He kept thinking of the happiness the old man had promised. Periodically, he would find rats burrowed in small holes, and he ate them raw--he was starving. As the maroon, greenish blood dripped down his chin, he wondered if there was anything else he would ever find for nourishment. On and on he struggled, and days turned into months and months into years. The closer he came to the top, the more a dim green tinted ray of light illuminated the rock.
One day, he started to meet other climbers. Some of them were old and crippled, and some had fallen and were lying dead. All of them had a sad look on their face, and all of them carried large rocks. One girl he met told him of the top, that she had been. She told him of the endless green meadows and the laughter of children, and how there was a beauteous glow of light. ?Once you make the top, all your troubles are over.? she said. She had been, but had come down looking for her son who never made it. They shared a mama rat, and the young man went on with a renewed vigor.
The young man was no longer young, and he had a long, flowing white beard. He didn?t count time anymore, all he knew was an endless repetition. Bloody hands, bruised heels and feet, and swollen, bloody rats were his life. The light had increased, but the darkness would never leave. The cliff had grown sharp with rocks, and the hammer had worn out. While in a state of despair, the weird old man appeared again, and said ?You?ve worked hard, I have a new hammer for you. I know it?s smaller, but you?re lucky I?m helping you at all. Just think, when you reach the top, you?ll be happy.? And he vanished as quickly as he appeared.
The old man pushed upward, ever clinging to his hope and purpose. The light had increased to where he could almost read the writing on the stone. He grew excited with the realization that he would soon achieve his goal. All his hard work would be worth his trouble, and he would find happiness. Long nights of suffering pain would yield to peaceful, summer afternoons in complete bliss; although he had never felt the summer sun and had never seen the light of day. He would realize the fruits of his labor, and all of his toil would be rewarded. Onward he struggled with his little hammer. Sparks flew from the little hammer and ignited the stagnant, gaseous air--the same air he?d been breathing all his life. The heat boiled his blood, and sweat ran in little streams into his eyes and off of his nose. Yet onward he climbed faithful to his commission.
And then, weather-beaten and weary, he pulled his aching body over the last jagged edge of rock between him and the top. Taking the stone and planting it in the ground, he could now read the words in the pale light of day. Carved in the face of the time-weathered stone were the words ?Rest in Peace.? A sinister voice boomed out of the frigid air in a bone-chilling laugh, a cold wind howled and sent him flying into the precipice, and he realized that he was happy: the climb was over.
