The Climb

My god, it was cold. Am I going to freeze to death?The weather outside, on a mission to ruin our climb, belted snow and hail down at us like mini kamikaze bombers out of the sky. Our tent’s orange walls swayed in the hellish winds, rustling and rustling like a fidgeting bush. The tent’s zipper, while sealed end-to-end, leaked cold air like an open oven. My sleeping bag wrapped around me, trapping what little warm air remained.I had lost count of how many days we were up here, ensnared by this merciless blizzard. We must be getting close by now, how long until the summit? Blades of snow flushed into my eyes, forcing them shut. It took a surprising amount of effort to heave them back open. I shivered in the breeze. The sound of little mortar shells raining down our tent had kept me awake for night after night, and my apparent lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with me.Figures of shapes and sizes faded into existence around me, their eternal gaze piercing through me like knives. I let my eyes wander from hallucination to hallucination, examining their curvature and unusual motion. Am I going insane?My throat felt scaly, and rough, almost like sandpaper. The veins in my head pulsated with my heartbeat. I could feel my head throbbing. I checked my bag for water. Nothing.I, again, tried to fall asleep, but to no avail. The night dragged on for all eternity.What an awful time to be alive.