The Magic of Story

The Harsh, Beautiful Earth

Pain.
Something I know all too well. Boiling softly at your heart, then striking suddenly at the pit of your stomach. Hurt. Something that boils beneath you, slowly manipulating you to become something new. Pain and hurt are two very different things. Pain is torture, hurt is simple. Life is pain- but is pain life?

  That is why I travel. To numb the horrible pain from my misfortunes. I travel alone, to echo my hollow hurt beneath me. The only thing I want in return?

  Anything to take my pain away. Anything to give me a new memory. I will only go solo. Never with another. Forever in search of the perfect photo. Because like the one time I believed I was happy?

  Fate will have other plans.

***

     The earth was harsh and cold. Every step I took echoed in the hollow footsteps of my hiking boots striking the damp earth below. Every beat of my heart was silenced by the sound of the falling leaves and the soft windy breeze.

  Storms and rivers. Lightning and forests. Snowfalls and waterfalls. Each different in its magnifying glory. But each have something in common. They can all cause pain.

  I believe in pain. And hurt. And torture. I had experienced enough. A slow, soft breath trailed out of my mouth, coming from deep inside my chest where my lungs were, and where my heart used to be. Instead of a heart, I only felt numb, throbbing pain. I thrust my sharp staff into the ground for balance, and it tore up the juicy earth hidden just beneath. The birds chirped in the trees, their lovely notes cascading down through the branches.

  I looked up, following the mountain's spiral with my eyes. It won't be long until I reach the top. I had taken this trip for the very reason I needed to distract myself. I loved to travel. Only by myself. There's something about experiencing a sunrise by yourself that puts it all into perspective. You remember the glorious light of the moon, reflecting off of the sun, and the reds and golden colors and the purples mix together as if stroked across the perfect blank canvas of the sky with a giant watercolor brush, spreading the colors around in a whirl of paint.

  The sky was darkened, and I hoped to get to the top of the mountain before sunrise- just so I could watch the sunrise and take the perfect photo. The photo I had been searching for for years. I had taken hundreds with my Polaroid camera. Each more fantastic than the last, they piled up in my house. Photography was my escape from my world. My escape from the long days I spent, cleaning his house.

  No, no. I couldn't think about him. It hurt too much. I had moved on. I became stronger. I shook my head, brushing my hair out of my face with a sticky hand. The grit of the morning stuck to me as I pushed on through the mountain. A rustle of the bushes made me grip my climbing stick tighter. I had known the dangers of traveling alone, yet I pressed through the crowd of people and taken the first step of the journey.

  With a horrible jolt, I realized how high I was up. And I was utterly alone.

  The jagged precipice of the mountain loomed over me as I dragged myself up, aching with tiredness. I pulled on a rope as a way to help myself brave the steeper slope easier and safer. My foot slipped on a rock, and pain shot through my ankle.

There's that word again. Pain. This time it was physical, but not nearly as bad as my mental agony.

I steadied myself, massaging my ankle slowly to relieve myself from the wound. Breathing hard, I pulled myself back up to the top, spreading mud all over my hands. I stopped for a moment, pulling a keg of water out of my pack. The clean, cool water trickled down my throat and assuaged my thirst. I wondered only for a moment if I should have brought someone else with me.

This trip was going to be the big one. I was going to learn things I had never bothered to know. And for what? A picture?

  No, this photo was the epitome of my being. The fruit of my labor. The one good thing to come out of my miserable life. As I pulled myself up the hill, aching every step of the way, I grunted and wondered where I would be if I was still with him.

  Him, as in, someone horrible. Someone who didn't deserve my time. Someone who I needed to forget. That was the reason why I went on my solo trip; if only I could forget every harsh word, every slap or scream, anything- everything he ever did to cause me pain.

  The ground crunched under my heavy footfalls, the dampness from the previous rainstorm becoming obvious in the mud piling up on the soles of my feet. After a moment of silent climbing and listening to the sounds of my thundering heartbeat, I rounded into a clearing in the trees. The top of the mountain.

Finally, I had reached the peak of the mountain. The moment I had been climbing for hours just to see. And the sun was almost rising. I hastily pulled my camera out of my pack, polishing the lens with my sleeve.

Shifting my weight, I made my way to the edge of the cliffs. I moved with caution, not wanting my feet to slip. When I had finally reached the edge, I peered over and took in the view. My breath hitched in my throat and my heart almost stopped.

Clouds gathered over the horizon, turning brilliant shades of orange, pink, and blue. The sun began to rise, almost in time with my shallow breaths. Trees stretched out as far as I could see- miles and miles of green and brown. The sky was tinted with magenta, and the mountains seemed to become monsters; the entirety of the sight swallowed me whole. I opened my mouth, staring at the vast majority of pure beauty.

With all of my strength, I shouted off the top of the mountain, "I'm free!"

And I raised my camera over my eyes, centering the lens directly into the sunlight. The sunrise was glorious; perfect, perfect swirls of pure color washing in before my eyes like a tide before the storm. I took my last deep breath before I did the exact thing I had been waiting for seventeen years to do. I put my finger on the button of the camera. I pressed down.

Click.

  Click.

    Flash.

       Silence.