It’s cold, my breath burns and my heart is quenched.
The journey I started has been so long that I cannot even remember the first day of my endeavour. Stones, ice, stones, clouds. On my way up on this godforsaken mountain I encounter things that were trendy once. Colourful back then, now just disregarded and slowly turned into trash. Of purpose once, now just a reminder of what I am searching for.
It is windy, my ears are reddish-blue cauliflowers.
I ram my pick axe into the ice and it cracks. I can hold onto it, not for long. Mercilessly I have to move to prevent my fall. There’s no way but up. I dream of the days in which I was standing at the bottom. Drunk on melancholic reminiscence, I wonder whether starting this quest is even something I could have chosen. I can’t remember the reason. Did someone tell me to?
It rains, my beard is frozen to a solid mess of hair and ice.
I long for the glittering, shiny things. I am a slave to marketing. I want more and better, like everyone else. But different. Ideas in my head of things I have never really encountered, made to be something that I must have. I am the collector of presumptions and desires.
The sun shows itself, I turn towards it and my eyes burn.
I make my way up this Sisyphean hill of nothingness. My mind paints illusions of what awaits me on top. I am sure I am on the right mountain, the path everyone has trotted along. I must be right, right? Right? Only a couple more times that I slam my pick axe into the ice, just a bit more. I am driven by my illusions. Higher and higher, I suffer, sweetly.
The clouds open up, my muscles are sore but I see the top.
Everything I have ever wanted. In front of me, like the others. Alone with everyone I celebrate my achievements.
A sign marks the top.
“Welcome to Mount Average”