(A SHORT NOVEL)

I started traversing the trail up the mountain, which I often visit whenever I want to be alone to meditate or contemplate. Sometimes, I come here to read a book, and because I always bring a pen and a notebook, there have been times when I have journaled. This mountain is where I retreat whenever I need to make a significant decision, just as I did today.

I travel for an hour by bus to get here. It will take almost 2 hours of walking at a normal pace to reach the mountain’s highest point. No one knew that I had gone to this mountain.  Anyway, I never told anybody that I come here occasionally. That is intentional. It’s my hideaway, so I kept it secret. Even this climb, no one knows. I haven’t told anyone that I’m going anywhere… and I won’t be coming back.

I’ve been walking for quite a while now, and it’s already past noon. But I only feel a few sweat drops on my forehead and cheeks. I don’t even feel any dampness at the back of my shirt. Even though my backpack is heavy, it is filled with food and drink for my last supper. It could be because my steps are small. It’s like the walk of those joining a funeral march to bring someone to their resting place. It’s like the walk of someone about to be executed, needing to be pushed and coerced by those escorting them to the gallows. Or perhaps I’m not sweating much because it’s only late March, and the stubborn winter refuses to give way to spring, much like the emotional winter that still grips my heart and mind, refusing to melt away. The cold still lingers, just as my pain does, and the promise of renewal feels as distant as the warmth of spring.”

Edge of the Fall (Part 1)

Edge of the Fall (Part 2)

Edge of The Fall (Part 3)

Edge of the Fall (Part 4)