My Hero's Journey: A Narrative Fiction

It was a world of white and grey.

Flurries of powdered snow filtered down from the overcast sky, the crystals unhurriedly moving to join their brethren already hiding the soil and rock below. Each footfall was accompanied by the sound of crushed ice beneath, each step pulling itself free from the blanket of frost only to return to its embrace scant inches farther.

The snow wrapped all the way up to the knee as though it were alive, hindering progress while the air served its own part in deterring trespassers. The frigid locale was paired with a thin atmosphere, and while the snow could hardly be considered heavy on its own, every breath turned progress into an ordeal. It was a struggle not against man nor beast, but against a lack of oxygen

There had even been organized efforts to reach the top itself—full complements of adventurers and explorers turned into would-be-tourists—and yet no matter the numbers, every person that had tried to traverse this forbidden domain was inevitably lost. Despite the picturesque tranquility of its landscape, it was scarce a wonder why it had become so resolutely avoided; no matter how many tried, no matter how much time passed, the peak was still untouched by mortal hands.

Not even I had touched upon it yet.

The wind howled defiantly against my body as though to fling me from the very precipice I walked. “Go back” it all but seemed to howl as it tore at the heavy cloak bearing the brunt of the assault. “You’ll never make it.”

And it was true.

As many others before, I too had underestimated the mountain’s treachery, and by now the sun was beginning to set upon the distant horizon. The already grey world was dipped into yet darker shadows, the chill growing ever more tenacious against my clothing, and the dark browns of my protective cloth—once lightly wettened from the exposure of snow to body heat—were now left stained and heavy with formations of