trekking

The wind is soft, brushing past his face, his fingers are getting a little chilly. The mountains are craggy and rough under his feet, he has to keep a close eye on the ground, which detracts from the view, but every few hundred yards, when he has got a hang of it, or when there is a stretch of flat plain ground, he looks up. They are formidable beasts, these mountains. They are magnificent, huge, towering. He feels small and in awe, looking up at them. He can smell the trees, and the animals, and just the nature, in the wind. He fills up his lungs with a fresh deep breath. This is perfect. This came to him in a daydream, on a rocky road, sitting in the backseat of his car. It was a few weeks ago, the trip had been planned by then. But the idea struck like lightning, then it came in its various forms, each one seemingly better than the next. He still didn’t know which one it would take. He wondered now, but wouldn’t it just be fun not to know. He had pondered over the ideas, each iteration improving over the next as he sat in the backseat and they passed the small mosque by that poorly placed speed breaker. They had been on their way to meet his cousin’s future in-laws. The people would arrive an hour fifteen minutes late. He was still younger than everyone present, so he could not say anything. But kudos to his nonagenarian grandfather, the man had been in the armed forces almost four decades ago, but was still a stickler for time. Maybe that’s where he had gotten his rigidity on time from. Kudos to his nana abu for not mentioning the seventy five minute plus delay. Great and Supreme Islamic Republic of Pakistan, zindabad. Regardless, he had been on his way as his father drove.

The wind is soft, brushing past his face, he wonders how it will be. His father hikes above in front of him. It was better this way. The man is getting old, he is a little overweight, so he is struggling. He on the other hand, lounges lazily. This isn’t that hard, but also not as easy as he expected. He has gained some weight since being back in this place.

He closes his eyes.

He turns around, looks down, and falls headfirst. He tumbles over, injures everything, but he survives.

He doesn’t turn around. He falls back, arms spread wide, flying down to his demise. He opens his eyes to see his father turn around and realize what has happened. His father does not have time to react. The boy hurtles down.

He steps back, screaming.

He steps back, not screaming. He has done enough high adrenaline things to not scream. He falls silently.

He does not face his destination, he steps back, arms spread wide, a beatific smile on his face. He will not survive.

He opens his eyes in the backseat of the car as the Azaan begins next to him as they pass the mosque. He smiles. He can’t wait for the trek.