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There is no other direction but up.

Hand over hand.

Foot over foot.

Step by step until my fingernails bleed and skin tears.

Blood drips down my wrists, an upside down crown of red.

Wind howls, and the rushing waterfall draws near. Tears streak down my cheeks, ignored, leaving tracks of their existence through the dirt and grime.

Yet I ascend.

Inch by fucking inch.

I must keep going.

The sun illuminates the way.

The stars watch, a pen poised above parchment.

The moon awaits, humanity drifting along with it.

So, I rise.

There is no other direction but up.

51

The Cave of Silence

The sun beats down on my back, but the ice in my veins and determination in my blood urge me forward. With my remaining strength, I hoist myself over the ledge, arms trembling and sweat dripping down my spine. My breath is shallow and rapid. I roll onto my back, lying motionless.

The clouds above blur in and out, and the air is thick with moisture. Damp and cloying, like I’m being fed straight into the mouth of the waterfall. My stomach cramps so abruptly, I feel as though I’ve been stabbed. Bile rises in my throat, and I turn to the side just in time.

After heaving up the contents of my stomach, I curl to my other side. I could lie here forever. I swear to the stars. The urge to remain frozen in this moment is innately embedded into my being. Threads woven into my soul that are as much a part of me as my love for music, or my friends. My family.

I groan and force myself to stand.

My family.

A tall man with dark hair and golden eyes flashes into my mind.

Lark.

My father.

Then a much older man with a ponytail of strawberry blond and grey hair. Marrow.

Another father of mine.

My body shakes with equal parts fatigue and rage. The injustice of everything I have lost looms heavily, like a torrential rain waiting to downpour the moment I’m least suspecting. Dread coils low in my belly. There is no escaping the feelings to come. The sorrow that I will endure.

But for now, I need to turn it off.

Stay focused.

I lift my head and blink. Before me, a large stone arch curves over a flat, grassy clearing. Tiny white and purple flowers sprout in clusters, oblivious to their odd placement on the top of a mountain. Through the arch, the waterfall spills out from a massive crack in the mountain, like two pieces once whole are now irreparably torn, forever driven apart.