The Rope

She was an avid mountaineer who was quite well versed with her ropes and how to take care of them. She had many climbs under her belt, make that carabiner, so she knew what she was doing. But when the ledge that she had perched herself on gave away , it was her mountaineering experience and choosing the right rope that saved form plummeting to a sure death.

She dangled by her rope that was attached to her carabiner, grateful for choosing the right one that  that could absorb the impact of her fall without snapping under her weight.

As she waited for the rope to stabilise, she surveyed the rock face  trying to find a niche or even a crevice which she could anchor herself and ascend up the mountain.

But there was none to be found leaving her with no other way but to haul herself  up, hoping  nothing untoward would happen.

But as luck would have it, the moment she tried to pull herself up, using only the rope, she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. The fall had twisted her shoulder and every movement took quite a lot of effort from her. But the only way to safety was for her to move up, and if she had to haul her self up she had to bear the pain, or dangle from the rope till either help came or she couldn’t hold on to it any longer.

So she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and pulled herself up the rope, feeling the full brunt of her pain, wincing in pain, letting out a silent scream.

She stopped when she couldn’t bear the pain anymore and desperately needed a break. She needed to find a way to recover  her strength. But till then she would have to  hold on to the rope for her dear life.

She was an expert mountaineer, and often had undertaken many solo climbs. Today was one of those days, and she regretted undertaking this climbing by herself. There was no one to help her, the rope being her only companion.

As she held on to the the rope, she could feel the rope slip through her hand. She could feel it burn from the friction between the rope and her wet hand, causing her hand to blister and bleed. But she couldn’t let go. Letting go would mean sure death, and she was not ready to die. Not this way, not right now, not today!

She remembered all the the ropes she had to let go in life, because they had burnt her hand, because they blistered and cut her, because it made no sense to holding on to them while it caused her more harm. She remembered all those ropes that snapped because she tugged too tightly at it, a game of tug of war, which always ended up loosing. She remembered the ropes she used  to bind things together but would always come undone.

But this was not one of those ropes. Even though it cut and hurt her, there were no ways she was letting go of this one. Letting go would mean certain death, and if she wanted to keep death at bay, she needed to hold on. Even if meant she had to tie a knot to help her hold on.

But just holding on would not help her. She had to find it in her to haul herself up, with the rope her only support and tool. 

So she she mustered all the strength she could, gritted her teeth , closed her eyes, and tried her best to block the searing, sharp pain, no matter how sharply it stabbed her, causing her to wince.

Slowly and steadily she made it up the mountain face. Once she reached the point from  where she had begun, she just collapsed and lost all consciousness.

When she finally gained consciousness she found herself in the emergency room. A fellow climber had found her and immediately called for help. She had a fractured shoulder and a few broken ribs and suffered from acute dehydration. Her hands were bandaged. She had held on to the rope so tightly that they had to cut the the part of the rope and then surgically extract rest the flesh of her palms. It was certain to scar her but also give her something to remember of the ordeal that she had been through but through it all she never let go of the rope.