It's an inch from my face, I'm so close I can see the scratches on the forged metal, see the battle scarred teeth, can see it piercing the ice, sending cracks emanating from it's protection. It holds my life, that tiny sliver, that inch of metal, embedded, shallow in the fragile ice. Will it hold? The ice screw six feet below my feet is sh*t, the belay is f**king sh*t too, welcome to winter climbing! Is my partner paying attention, f*ck I'm struggling, this doesn't feel right, it's too hard. We must be off route. I can't help but look at it, a shallow island of security in a sea of risk, am I controlling it? Am I in control here? The ice pick, it's right by my nose, how long can I perch here? My other arm, cramp, scratching desperately, the unseen cracks above my head, for a hold, for a hook, something to pull on, security, the feeling of safety, of winning. Can't picture it right now. What the f*ck am I standing on, I can't remember, can't see my feet, rigid, daren't move them, how much could I move them, before the points popped off? Should have done more calf raises. Is this what people look back on while they're flying through the air, followed by their partner and the remnants of a sh*t belay? While they're lying in hospital and... Stop it, focus. F*ck I'm scared, what an idiot, what an incompetent fool, I can't do this. It's too hard, we must be off route. Sh*t I'm f**ked, my calves are burning. Focus damn it! There must be something up there, come on, stretch. Ow, cramp. Don't move, don't f*cking move your feet, jesus. Get a grip. I can see my breath condensing on the pick, why am I wedged in this position, why am I in this cold, desolate fear fest? Why am I trusting my life to an inch of metal in about as thick the piece of crumbly ice. How did I reach this point, when the f*ck did this become a good idea? What the f*ck am I even doing he...YES, f*ck yes, f*ck f*ck f*ck, a hold, pull up, climbing, I'm moving, YES, this is it, this is life. Whoo! I'm alive, I'm so f*cking alive, I love this shit.
