hazelnutter-universe-blog

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The Mountain

From the upper-most window of the eastern tower, the view of the mountain was best. The mountain was lonely. It wasn’t tucked away in a vast mountain range, nor did it tower above a great cordillera. Solitary and undisturbed, it stood alone. It was so distant, that the pine trees sprinkled around its base appeared black. A thick layer of snow painted their treetops white. I wondered how the winds whistled as they brushed through the needles. I liked to think that the pines swayed peacefully, but I was never able to tell. The mountain’s peak punctured the heavy clouds, though they rolled, like an ocean-tide consistently. 

My father found his peace by staring out towards the mountain, I think that’s why he showed me this particular nook of the castle. He enjoyed the silence. As vultures circled the summit, he would rest his head in his hands, occasionally sighing. I knew he marvelled the grace and size of it. It was nature at its finest.

But everything my father loved about the mountain, was everything I feared most. I didn’t dream of one day scaling the beast. Instead, I cowered in thought at those who considered tackling it. They would surely become lost in its everlasting, icy emptiness. 

I wondered what creatures howled as the night drew in, when the moon came out, only to pale in comparison to this mighty brute that was the mountain. And when the sun shone over it, where were its darkest crevices hidden in the shadows of its other side? I sometimes imagined an avalanche hurtling down the slopes, but I only ever saw the mountain still. The mountain never disturbed from its slumber. The only reminder of life at its loneliest edges were the deep cracks etched into its body, running from the very top to the very bottom. They were the mountain’s veins, pumping its blood, keeping it alive.

Were you to stray there, would you even stand a chance? Or would you vanish with the elements as the swept you away, never to be seen again? Would they bellow at you as a warning before they stormed you? Or would bury you silently, as if you never existed? If there were by chance, an enchanted cave hidden beneath a frosted ridge, would anybody hear your cries for help from within the rock? Of course not. You’d be a fool to be there in the first place, nevermind attempt escape.

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The Woman

I remember her clothes were mismatched. Her jacket seemed as though it was meant for a man, not because of the style or the colour, but the fit lay saggy over her body, what shape she may have had was drowned in a frayed, brown corduroy number. In perhaps an effort to compensate for her masculine upper-half, she was wearing a long green skirt that skimmed the floor as she walked. The edges were practically destroyed and she almost tripped as a piece of string became entangled in her trainers. I could not see the original colour of her shoes, given that they were stained and the back had been trodden down. They were probably several sizes too small. 

I avoided looking at her face too much, it depressed me. Her eyes had sunken into her head and the black bags underneath were yet more flaps of skin hanging over her skull. I had the impression she had once been a beautiful woman, but the streets had been cruel to her. I had no doubt she had used drugs before but most of the sadness she radiated towards me came from the fact that she was around my mother’s age. I would have guessed she was around fifty-five, but then again it’s hard to tell such a weathered soul’s age. I wondered how a woman like her ends up on the streets, where were her family? Who took care of her? Who did she take care of? Her constant twitches and her occasional extension of her arm masked any personality she might have had left. She was a beggar now. Not a woman nor a mother. Not a friend nor daughter. She belonged to nobody just as nothing belonged to her, except for the ragged clothes draped on top of her body and the small change I was able to hear, clinking around in her pockets, to be spent in somewhere I would probably never dream of going.