An old guide with features as sharp and chiseled as the rock ledge upon which he sat stared into the void. His much younger companion ministered his smooth hands with tape and tincture of benzoin.
Higher up, the youth, a “guide aspirant”, allowed as how the elder moved rather well for his age. Indeed, he had so far been impressed. There was no retort or response but for the crunch of rice cakes and gurgle of water from the canteen – water which had been scooped from the clear cold stream far below.
Long before sunset the guide had prevailed upon the youth to take advantage of the broad ledge traversing both walls of the huge dihedral they were ascending. Protestations as to the waste of yet available light were left echoing alone.
Moreover, though the ledge on one side was flat and smooth, the other was roughly castellated. The youth had remarked upon this fact and the related possibilities for a comfortable night. To his then further dismay, the old guide insisted that they both watch the moon from amongst the blocks.
Just after dawn, there was a terrible sound from high above. Covering his head and face with his hands, the youth pressed himself to the back of the ledge and behind the now welcome hunks of orange granite.
Thick with the smell of damnation, the dust cloud slowly cleared as the young man peered between his fingers to see the old man unmoved and beyond him unweathered rock where the opposite ledge had for millennia been.
The Subtle Landscape 
July 18, 2008 at 11:31 pm |
This is one of my favorite things ive read that you have written. Can I assume this to be fiction or non – fiction? Can I also assume that I am going to be able to write like this in 30 years?