TDV 74: The Cry Of The Crooked

November 27th, 2010 by Sharkchild

Upward I climbed, foot over foot, and hand over hand. Blood pounded at my temples while I strained to maintain strength and focus. Beads of sweat rolled off of my forehead and fell the depths of my course. My sight was set on nothing but the path I had already traveled. My feet were above me and my hands were below. Backwards I crawled to achieve my movement—the future reversed; the past to come—to trick the summit, to allow me passage. I took my time; I rehearsed each movement meticulously in my mind. I pressed fiercely my feet into stone and moved at the pace of a turtle’s stride. Double-jointed knees abled my legs with the necessary angles of grip and with pull. My hands supported me and helped spring me to new footholds.

I did not climb because I had to. I did not climb because I wanted to. I climbed because of ill-fated ability—I climbed because I could and no one else—not the strong, not the powerful; only I—one of the strange, one of the outcasts, one of the deformed of miscreation. I climbed Mount Usen Riddiddexdedet to prove the worthiness of imperfection and to scream its curse atop the peak of existence.

(Listen to the entire story below)


One Response to “TDV 74: The Cry Of The Crooked”

  1. avatar Bob Raymond Says:

    I enjoyed this story. It is unusual in style but well told and I felt like I was watching the ascent. It reminds me in a good way of a Ray Bradbury story called “The One who Waits” from “a book of short stories I read as a kid, “The Machineries of Joy”

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