Sixty-three

Slowly the light wanes as the sun crests the horizon, and I finally have a good look at my surroundings. The view is great, and the forest stretching before me for miles is absolutely breathtaking. Birdsong fills the early morning air, while my precarious position puts me into yet another impasse. Where did the cat go?

I get that cats always land on their feet, but the drop is hundreds of feet high.

There must be a trail, I just need to find it.

I look to my left and all see is more of the same just slightly greener. Moss-covered rock, here and there trees hang, dangling in the breeze off the the face of the cliff.

I turn my head and look to my right and find what I'm looking for. Indeed there is a trail that leads down the cliff. The problem is that is only just a few inches wide.

Bollocks.

It is not fit to hold my weight unless I move fast enough. I look down at the gash in my leg and sigh. I don't see this ending well, but the alternative is down a very steep cliff with lots of rocks at the bottom.

Either or, I need to make a decision. Wasting daylight isn't an option.

Dragging my lame leg behind me, I glue my back to the cliff and look upwards.

They say that the ass's prayers never quite reach the heavens, but what do I know. I might be that one lucky ass, whose prayers do make it to heaven.

Wishful thinking, I guess. Since I don't have much else going for me.

With a deep shaky breath, I close my eyes and begin to slide right. Sheets of rock begin to break loose and fall, and I can't help the fear creeping down my back, turning me almost numb. Or it could be hunger. I can't tell anymore.

The trail narrows even more in some places, and I'm forced to tip-toe and put weight on my lame leg. Gritting my teeth, I push through the pangs of pain and ignore the blood that trickles down my foot and pools into my boot.

I don't have an ounce of energy or power left in me so I'll have to make it out of this place only with my wits, and bare hands.

It takes hours to even make it halfway down. By then the sun has climbed up the sky, and moved past the ridge of the cliff, so far off that I don't see it anymore. I'm grateful that I don't have to endure the heat beating down on me. I'm clammy, my hand slips here and there, and the barely dry clothes stick to my skin. Dirt clings to me like a second layer of skin and I wish I'd have the luxury of taking a bath and treating my wounds before they get infected.

Time moves incredibly slow, but even so dusk creeps in nonetheless, finding me still hanging for dear life to one of the low branches of a tree that grows out the cliff.

The trail is brittle, more chunks of rock break loose under my foot and I'm afraid to move. With a quiet rumble, the trail crumbles beneath my feet and I'm forced to let go of the branch and slide further down the trail, just enough to avoid falling and tumbling to my death.

Nightfall comes, and I'm still fumbling my way down through the darkness praying for the moon to rise, fast and hoping that it's a full moon.

No such luck.

The moon does eventually rise only it is a new moon, and the light it provides does nothing for my cause. I still can't see anything, and mostly feel my way down.

I know I'm getting closer to ground level, only by the waning strength of the breeze that collides with the cliff and then is forced upwards. It's gentler, and the scent fir stronger.

The call of hunger is strong and the only thing I have to settle my rumbling stomach is the leaves that I plucked off that shrub, which unfortunately aren't many, so I have to ration those too.

My throat is drier than the dessert, and I'm pretty sure, after sweating the last remaining water in my body, I'm fast approaching dehydration.

Luckily, nighttime is rather cool, and after a fairly warm day, condensation forms on the smooth rocks. So I lick the drops of water wherever I find them, knowing fully well that there is a chance is contaminated.

There is no win in this situation. This is a lose-lose type of situation. I'm screwed if I do, and I'm screwed if I don't.

The little water, coupled with the leaves I snack on, helps just enough to keep me from collapsing off the cliff.

It's a game of repetition. Every few steps I stop to lick drops of water off the cliff, pop another leaf in my mouth, and then continue.

The moon slides out of sight, and I'm left in complete darkness once again, but I know that dusk is approaching so I find some comfort in that.

I'm beyond beat. I need to rest, but there is no place to sit, and the trail is not wide enough for me to sit on it so I can rest my weary bones. Everything hurts, but I'm used to pain, I've learned how to push it to the edge of my mind and ignore it, in a controlled environment.

This is the first time, I've found myself completely alone, and only myself to rely on. I'm forced to a stop when the trail suddenly ends. That can't be good.

I can't risk lowering down to feel with my hand to see if it's just a gap where the trail has broken off. And I can't use my good leg to feel my way around without damaging my injured leg even more. I'm forced to a standstill. At least until dusk. I look before me and I'm greeted by darkness and the sound of critters merrily singing into the night.

Fantastic.