"Valley" by Meredith Westfall

The blood red sky reflects little light onto the dry, cracked earth beneath. The reddish-brown dirt is all that can be seen for miles, before it hits eleven gigantic silhouettes. They circle around the valley like Goliaths, caging one. Within these mountains, we are kept. And here we have been kept all my life.

Here, my skin cracks in the dry air. My lips, tongue and throat are like parchment. My eyelids resemble tree bark against scratched and bloodshot eyes. The icy wind makes my already blue skin numb. The steam from the ground does not make it past my ankles, and it’s heat makes the skin on the bottom of my feet peel. This land will eat away at my flesh until I am not but dust. It has always been like this.

I do not live alone, however. The only way to survive in this dark place is with others. We are a merry clan. We tell stories, and we have feasts. We have learned much also, like how to find food in the smallest crevices of the rocks, and how to catch the steam from the earth to drink water. We are all very thin, of course, but we are alive.

But still I cannot forget the day the foreigner came. He was in a very poor condition, but he still managed to tell us stories of another place. I had never known about anything outside of the valley. The man told us of things called Stars, and of the Sun. He told us also of the Moon. He said they were great lights that hung in the sky. No one believed him of course, but he went on to say that the clouds over this valley block the lights. He then told us of something he referred to as Grass - a soft carpet of green that covered most places of the earth. He told us also of oceans, rivers, and trees. All of this was much too good to be true, however, and his wild stories were not heeded.

So now I gaze at these mountains and I wonder what lies beyond. Is there a beautiful land, like the ones of those I’ve heard? Does it actually have a sun? Is it without these red clouds? Is there a glittering puddle of water, that stretches farther than my eye could ever see? Are there shelters from this vicious wind? Is there any wind at all? Will the ground be cool and soft? Or is this land on the other side just as dreadful as where I am? These answers I could never know unless I climb the mountain.

Here at the foot of the Mountains, they seem so mighty and horrendous. They look as though their black rocks must have claimed a thousand lives. They are taller than the clouds, and there is no gap between them. To risk my life is not what I want, but as long as I am here, then do I have a life at all? I take my last look at home. To leave could mean to die, but to stay here, then my life would be of no point. Here in the valley I have nothing... except my family. If I go, at least I will have a hope, and if I find myself in another valley, then I can keep searching until I find the end of the journey... but what of my clan? They do not like the strange man that has come. They think he has lost his head, and that I have also. But the more I think, the smaller I feel by these forsaken rocks.

So I grab hold of the rock in front of me, and heave my worn body onto the mountain. The mountainside is still as painful as the ground, but I have endured it all of my life, and maybe one day, when I am no longer caged, or even no longer alive, I will find a place: a place with a soft green carpet. Perhaps I will find a place with a gentle sun to warm myself, and a glittering sea that stretches farther than my eyesight can show.

At the end of the perilous journey, when I peak over the top of the mountain, I might only see more valley, but I still hold on to the great hope to see the bright blue sky, the shining stars and the moon. I press myself to complete the expedition, so in the end I should have at least proved something.

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