Fiona
A step recessed as Fiona moved farther up. She climbed, piercing through the red billows of moss and rock. Another step, and one more — don’t look down, but only up. She slipped, but her grip caught her back right on track.
The long path uphill was a turbulent riot, and an escape from what’s been left underneath in quiet. She climbed farther from the city, and friends, and family, and love, towards the riches that she desired. Her life was a single dream — to be the wealthiest and above him.
The Earth looked like an amorphous desolate plateau at this height. Steps that paved a grotesque path to the wealth disappeared behind. Only they gleamed sensuously above and filled her lungs with ferocious indifference to what she left — a lusterless life. They lured her in with sweet whispers in mind.
She reached to the top. The last step had vanished with no path behind. The view of gold and silver had no end in sight. It blinded, and burned, and caressed at the same time. At the moment, she realized that it has not been a mountain but an endless pit with no way outside.
The dark came, and she cried, and she dreamed of what she left behind. No city had blinded her sight tonight. No friend lent a hand to climb out outside. No family gave love to make her warmth ignite.
And love all but left her empty lungs like a morbid butterfly with a thousand tongues.
This short situation is based on Centina Pentina Weekly Prompt: Mountains
