This was a writing exercise I did for my Grade 12 creative writing class. Hope you enjoy :)
His breath came up short despite the deeper and the longer he inhaled. An enormous effort was put forth for each pull of oxygen through his mouth. For each gulp, gasp, and choke that ravaged his quivering body, he tried to fill his searing lungs. His throat was sore with open welts from the cold air-inhaled pollen, dust, and dirt.
The air was thinning, flimsy like a plywood bridge of ice beneath his weary feet. He trembled within the cold as he continued his way upwards towards an unknown summit - a destination of peace. The ice picks of his durable boots were dull from the constant gnawing of sharp impaling teeth: ice.
His eyelids felt tired, weak, not bothering to see the beauty of what was in front of him. A landscape of proportions; a grand vision compared to the frail, sickly, ant weaving its way up through the ages of life.
All went black.
He awoke, thrashing about. White walls, bare, desolate, and obsolete (a canvas with no paintbrush applied. No vivid colours of the seasons). His eyes moved wildly through the small room, nothing surrounded him.
A window! Small, glossy, dark, but hope surged through his veins at the sight of such a relief. He swung his legs over the bed - crisp and clean. He put his feet to the cold enamel floor, and quietly wobbled over to the smooth glass frame. He rapped upon the glass…soft, than with anger as no one answered. A door opened swiftly – two men in white appeared.
“Where’s Benny?” he asked, the words fumbling from his lips.
“Benny…who is Benny, Charlie?”
“My…my friend, who was on the mountain climbing expedition with me.”
“Charlie, Benny does not exist. You do not have any friends here.”
“You’ve taken him…you’ve taken him! You’re going to come for me too…get away!”
He hastily bolted for the door, but it closed tightly shut, leaving him, once again, alone in the white washed room. His mind whirled, clicked furiously, as he slowly retreated to the farthest corner of the room, all the while keeping a lazy eye upon the door.
“Charlie, this isn’t good, no…no…where am I; a dream? I’m lost; where is the mountain? Charlie please speak to me. I need an answer, an explanation for why I am here.” he whispered frantically.
“Now, now Charlie, there is no need to get hasty and confused. Can’t you see, I am right here, and Benny is right here with you,” he replied.
“Charlie,” whispered a soft silky smooth voice, “be careful, those men are not trustworthy, they are going to use you for tests. They’ll use sophisticated instruments to calculate your brain waves, to read your mind.”
“No!” both voices rang clear; the room was silent as he shut his eyes wearily, convulsing.
He dropped to his knees…he reached it, the destination and Benny had made it too.
The air was crisp, clean, cold. White surrounded him, a blizzard whipped about the crest fallen peaks. He looked out from his mask, which shielded his view, at the other side of the glass - the world. The beauty was before him, in the still silent spaces of the surrounding landscape. A wonderful view of the world was painted here: plain in sight, but rarely seen.
His breath came up short despite the deeper and the longer he inhaled; it was becoming more difficult. An enormous effort was put forth for each pull of oxygen through his mouth. For each gulp, gasp, and choke that ravaged his quivering body; he tried to fill his searing lungs. He coughed, losing sight of what lay around him, as he sunk into unconsciousness.
He awoke, thrashing about.
“They’ve come…they’ve come!” he shouted starring up at a white ceiling.
The doctors, in white coats, starred on in disbelief. The report had read ...