THE ROOT OF DARKNESS

THIRTY ONE

My hands tremble after an hour of persistent climbing. The stalk seemed to have no end. The farther I climb, the farther the top seems to get. I could only see what I assume to be the top of the giant plant, piercing through a sea of clouds so far up above.

A strong wind blows against me, rattling my ropes and causing my hair to whip behind me. I hold fast, digging my knife into the thick stalk. My shirt is paper thin against the harshness of the elements up here, but I can only grit my teeth and continue.

Up here, the wind is unrestricted and strong enough to knock one off any footholds. I do not intend to let that happen, anyway.

The wind eventually dies down, and I let out a tired breath, continuing the torturous and hazardous climb. My fingers are bright red and raw from gripping tightly at the knife and ropes. I have tied the knife tightly to my arm with the ropes, so it does not fall back down to the ground if my hold slips.

My toes burned from gripping on to precarious grooves