At the foot of the mountain I lay, staring up in awe. The mountain fails to notice me, so I decide I must climb for its attention. I voraciously await the view from the peak, wondering why I am alone in the quest up the mountain. Is there a greater prospect elsewhere of which I have not yet heard? Perhaps I am the only fool insane enough to attempt to climb the mountain. Perhaps that`s why the mountain`s offer is so unbelievably undeniable. There must, at this moment, exist no place more peaceful, more tranquil than this mountain`s peak. A schizoid man`s dream. What if the toil I endure to reach the mountain`s peak is not worth it? What if I reach the top of the world only to see the ugliness of the bottom? I mustn`t think such things. Suppose I never descend. Sure, the view won`t be picturesque; in fact, it may very well be odious, but if I refuse to return to my horrid home I will never have to suffer its torturous happenings. This giant and its rewards have never seemed grander!

My progress is asymptotic, each step harder than the one previous. The footholds grow farther apart. I begin to grow anxious. What if the last step is the only one I can`t make? A harrowing thought! I am distracted by the mountain. Alas, I seem to have grasped the mountain`s attention, but it is not the kind I hoped for. It releases treacherous boulders toward me, hoping for anything but the continuation of my now fragile life. The boulders, black as death, march forward, persevering despite growing visibly smaller by the second--mindless mercenaries knowing not why they have been sent to kill, just for whom. As the Stygian stones grow ever-nearer, they whittle down to mere pebbles, becoming more afraid of me than I am them. As soon as the pebbles pass me by, my memory of them departs, as there exists only space for but one thing in my mind...

The sweet scent of honeydew enters my nostrils, accompanied only by the milk of paradise. It seems that the mountain has finally accepted that my full ascent is imminent. I wonder: were the boulders the mountain`s wicked trial? Had the mountain dropped boulders on all climbers, thus ensuring all who see the peak are worthy? My mind drifted for a moment, considering all of the mountain`s victims from centuries past. I shall avenge them, for I share much in common with the ancient testers of this mountain`s patience. They are martyrs unknown to the world! I struggle over the final short cliff, my body worn from this grand trek. The peak finally enters my vision. It sits placidly, awaiting my arrival. I am vindicated! I need not a dictionary, for I now know the word "idyllic" better than any other! I have now touched the heavens! I have tasted its nectar! I shall at once begin my feast on honeydew and enjoy my ecstasy while it lasts.

As I wash the honeydew down with milk, my celebration is callously interrupted, for I briefly glance down at my skin, only to notice its apparent age: my skin is plagued by numerous wrinkles, gray and devoid of life. I struggle to stand up from the peak and I realize descent is impossible in such an aged state. How am I expected to reap the rewards of this journey? How am I to enjoy my newfound immortality? What has this mountain given me that it hasn`t later deprived me of? I am locked in a depraved prison, never wavering in its display of the life that could have been! I am thrown into a maelstrom of depression, never to return. As it seems, reaching the highest point in heaven isn`t so different from being tossed into the depths of hell...