A short story of a man who aims to reach the peak of Mt. Everest.
John strode through the blistering cold, over the icy peaks of Mt Everest. He had ascended the past two thousand metres on only two small cups of soup and a camel pack.
He pushed through the freezing snow armed with his ice picks, hammering at anything in his path. He looked ahead at a peak. "The peak!" he shouted. "I've nearly done it!" using all of his remaining strength he stormed his way up the steep cliff. He looked over the top. "No!". He sighed as he looked up. Ahead of him was another climb to the highest peak. He hadn't got there yet.
He slumped his shivering body against a nearby rock. He had to rest if he was to make the final push to the top. He set up a wind shield and took some food from his backpack. "Great" he muttered to himself, "just one flask of soup left". He poured himself a cup of steaming tomato soup and quickly devoured it, burning his tongue. He didn't care; All he wanted to do was reach the peak. That was his ambition, his goal.
"I must leave now" he thought to himself, "or I am sure to die of frostbite on the way down". He didn't have much time. He packed away his belongings and set off up the final peak.
His strides were long and powerful. His eyes were blinded by the raging wind. Even so, he knew his course. He strode further and further up the peak, avoiding rocks and boulders all covered in thick, white snow. Realising the peak was a few hundred metres away he quickened his pace.
He was near the top, he could at last clearly see it. At this point he stomped harder to get more grip as the peak got steeper. His spiked shoes were only just coping with this thick, compacted snow in these treacherous conditions.
He breathing was heavy and his chest was on fire. "Fifty metres!" he thought to himself. Clambering up the last few ledges, he used his last remaining energy to pull himself up onto the top. He looked ahead. What he then saw he would never forget.