WRITING PROMPT NO. 178
The mountains beyond created a jagged horizon.
Basecamp was far from them now. The descent would be easier yet still treacherous. They’d taken a risk making the ascent when they did. The weather changed by the hour over the mountain, from bright warm sunshine to blizzard conditions in a matter of minutes.
The small team of climbers were tucked into layers of insulated clothing but the cold bit hard into their bodies. Fur edged the hood of the man in front, tiny icicles formed from the drips of water that had slid down the fibres. His hands were losing feeling, every nerve was being numbed by the cold.
“Peter?” said a voice, a familiar voice. “Peter?”
He looked around. He’d moved ahead of the group who he could see standing on the ledge beneath him. All heads were down as they picked their way along the precipice.
Where was that coming from?
“Peter? Take care here. I love you,” said the voice.
Dizziness almost overcame him and he struggled to remain upright.
“It wasn’t your fault,” said the voice, gentle, close, whispering in his ear. “Don’t blame yourself, Peter.”
The hot breath of someone else tickled his face. He brushed at his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Sonja?” he said. “Where are you?”
He looked around but saw nothing.
“I tried Sonja. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
“I love you, Peter.”
“Where are you?”
Peter turned one way, then the next. His heart raced in his chest. Nausea bubbled up the back of his throat.
Silence. The voice had gone leaving Peter alone with his memories.
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