The Unending Climb

By J.L. Butterworth

His fingers scramble for purchase on the steep, rocky hill. Nothing but darkness surrounds him, but he feels as though he’s adrift in an infinite void, only the dirt underneath his fingernails and the earth digging into his knees felt solid — real.

“I can’t...I can’t...there’s no way...” Admitting defeat, yet clinging on with his fingertips, his body flat against the precarious ground, gasping between every word.

“I believe in you.” A voice calls out, from everywhere and yet nowhere.

“Who is that??” His head swivels around to locate where it’s coming from, but only blackness fills his vision.

“Michael — you’ll make it up this hill one day.” A small pulsing orb flickers into existence.

The orb's soft blue light illuminates the ground beneath Michael, revealing only packed dirt and gravel. He recoils and squints at the light, using one hand to cover his eyes against the invading light source in the pitch black.

How long have I been climbing? The only thought his mind will allow him echoes through his skull, drowning out anything else.

“You’ve been climbing longer than you’ll admit.” The orb’s voice is ethereal, threatening to vanish at any moment.

Michael’s eyes start to adjust to the new light source filling his vision. Though he can see the patch of ground he’s been ascending, anything beyond that is blackness — an empty and uncaring void. “You can hear my thoughts?” He calls out, still breathing hard.

“I’m closer than you think.” Its presence gives him reassurance. “I believe in you. You can make it. You’ve overcome bigger obstacles.”

He pauses in thought. Have I? This feels like all I’ve ever done. All I ever will do. His own thoughts echo in his head.

“All things must end.” The orb’s voice softens. “But with every ending comes a new beginning. The ascent is difficult, but you will make it to the top. And then — it’s all down here from there.”

Such a cliché’d saying. Michael rolls his eyes. “Really? That’s your pep talk? The same stuff my grandparents used to say? Lines from a thousand movies? That’s what you’ve got to offer?”

“I’ve come to offer help.” It quickly replies.

“Oh yeah?” He pulls himself up and starts to climb again, grunting with effort. “I don’t need any help. I’m going to tell you what I’ve been told my whole life — I’m too stubborn to accept help from anybody.”

“Is that why you’ve been climbing this hill for so long?”

Is that why? I can’t remember how long I’ve been climbing this hill, but it feels like this is all I know.

The orb flits to the other side of him. “You’re so much more than this. It feels like you’ve been doing this for so long because focusing on it was the only way you could keep moving. No growth. No going backward. Only climbing an endless hill to nowhere.”

“Can’t I even have my own thoughts to myself?” He growls as he climbs.

“Haven’t you noticed that you’re not going anywhere?”

Michael stops and looks around him, as if he’d recognize anything in his surroundings. “I haven’t?”

“Do you think your backpack is holding you back?” The orb inquires, pulsing with each word.

“Backpack?” He looks back, and to his surprise he’s been carrying an oversized pack this entire time. “Where’d that come from?”

“You’ve always had it. You sure you can make it up the hill while carrying that?”

“What’s even in this thing?” He’s able to find some purchase with his feet, sling the pack off of one shoulder, then turn and lay flat against the incline. He tries to lift it up so he can unzip it, but it’s too heavy to lift. “How was I even carrying this?” He hauls it upward with all his strength, scraping it across the incline. Rocks tumble into the abyss, clicking and clattering until they vanish into silence. He lays there panting a moment, backpack at his side.

“Go on. Unzip it. See what’s in there.” The light implores.

Breathing heavily, he doesn’t think — only acts. He leans forward some, not enough for him to lose his balance, and unzips the pack he’s been carrying. “....rocks? Why am I carrying rocks?”

“That’s a very good question,” it says, tone firm now. “Why are you carrying all of those rocks? You should dump out the backpack.”

Michael looks at the pack full of rocks and hesitates. “I....I can’t...I need them...” Why do I need these rocks?

The orb flits to the open pack, illuminating the rocks inside with greater detail. “Are you sure you need them? Maybe you could part with a few of them?”

Uncertainty welling up inside him, he looks at the rocks longingly. He’s not sure how much time passes, but the rocks seem to hold meaning. He wants to address the orb, but it simply waits patiently for his response. I mean, they’re just rocks. Surely I could get rid of a few of them.

“I believe in you, Michael.” The light’s voice is soft and reassuring.

He stares for another moment. “Al...alright. I can let go of some of these.” He reaches in and grabs a few larger rocks, inspecting each one before placing several on the incline beside him. “Okay, there.”

“You know what you need to do next.” Its tone is demanding.

Hesitation creeps in again. Michael stares at the rocks. Can I really let go of these? They seem so important...

“Yes. You can. I’m here for you. I always have been even if you couldn’t see me. It’s okay to let go.”

Another moment passes by. His hands creep closer to the waiting rocks. Before he can pull himself back, he slaps each one in turn and watches them roll down the hill, clattering and bumbling until they’re out of sight, only the sound of their tumbling remains until it fades to nothingness. He sighs deeply.

“It’s okay. I know that was hard. It’s never easy to let go of things that are important to you. Are you ready to climb again?”

He takes a breath. His muscles ache and his hands are bleeding, but he’s ready. He slings the pack over his shoulder — lighter now — and starts to climb again. “Okay, let’s do this.”

One hand after the other, each foot finding purchase, he climbs with renewed vigor. Slowly, he feels like he’s making progress. The way is easier now, his burden lighter. Maybe he can actually do this.

A blaring alarm slices through the silence — faint at first, then unbearable. He stops his climb and covers his ears.

“Michael, it’s time to go. I will see you again.” The orb flickers out of existence, taking its scant light with it.

His eyes open and his vision is filled with the morning light flooding into his bedroom. The blaring from his alarm clock is quickly silenced with a slap. Hauling himself up on his elbows, he looks around with bleary eyes. No hill. No orb. No heavy backpack. Only his small TV, dresser, and the large king size bed he sleeps near the edge of.

Bare feet meet the floor as Michael hefts himself out of bed and wills himself to the bathroom to start his usual morning routine. A few minutes of browsing the internet on the toilet, brush his teeth, wash his face, comb his hair, put on fresh deodorant, and he’s ready enough. The routine rarely changes — he appreciates some semblance of stability in his life.

The same handful of polo shirts and khaki pants await him in his laundry basket — clean but not yet put away — they’ll make it into his clothes pile by the closet door by day’s end. He slips into his usual work clothes, buttons up his shirt, tightens his belt, and checks in the mirror that his appearance is acceptable.

I need to shave, but that will have to wait.

He checks his clock. Fifteen minutes until his train comes. That’s plenty of time to make it up to the station on foot.

The apartment echoes with the sound of his bare feet on tile as he crosses to the living room, passing through his kitchen and the stack of dirty dishes that have awaited him for a week. He grabs the messenger bag he carries with him every day and slings it over his shoulder. His socks and shoes wait nearby — the socks themselves haven’t been washed in weeks, but they’re only worn when he’s not at home — and he’s usually at home.

Mindlessly he slips them onto his feet and stands up, doing one last final check. He reaches for the door when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He reaches for it and glances at the screen — a reminder notification.

“Third anniversary of losing her.” It says plainly.

Michael stares at his phone for a moment, then tucks it back into his pocket and opens the door. The sun is bright on this cool summer morning, birdsong filling the air as cars pass by on the road. He steps outside, then shuts and locks the door before turning to head up the sidewalk to the station. He takes a deep breath before blowing it out through pursed lips.

“Okay. You’ve got this,” he tells himself, stepping forward.