Out of Hell

Surrounded by a darkness, I am comforted by nothing.
Cold, wet, stabbing stones behind me.  As comforting as a mother's touch.

My body aches, this close to broken it's challenging to move, but I do. 
My lips first. They whistle well. It amuses me.
Soaking, weak-kneed, and stumbling I build momentum, rise to my feet. 
Standing in the shallow water, I am no longer drowning.  I swim now. 
Sloshing, wading, rising and clinging to the jutting stone of an island shore. 
I pause for a breath that causes me to slip but not too far.  I climb back up. 
Perched upon the highest rock, gripping as best I can with wet, bare feet and hands.  A predator readying to pounce.

Strength gathered, I leap to the jagged stone walls, catching, for only a moment an unforgiving ladder.
The impact delivers several pressure point jabs to this weak, frail, body.  If only I were stronger, bigger, better.  But I'm not.  It slips.  A failure for the thousandth time.  Repeat the process or think of something better.

I repeat the process.

I catch.  It hurts again.  Even the success hurts.  No time to relish, keep moving.  My footing is harder to find.  My skin tears as I make the climb.  The struggle hurts.  I still have so far to go.  My muscles burn.  My soul is tired.  Can I die yet?

I look up.  The light is still there, dying.  Maybe just flickering.  Never been this close before.  I reach for it.  I slip.  I crash.  A failure ten thousand times over.  You fool.  Everything goes black.

Back to life.  My stone slice of island paradise broke my fall.  Should I try again?  What's the point?  What else is there?  How about a song?  Let's try again.  Repeat the process.  Try new things.  Some work.  Others don't.  I try again.  I miss my mark.  I try again.  I hurt, I heal, I try again.  Twenty feet.  Thirty feet.  Fifty feet.  A slip.  A catch.

 It's not about winning.  There doesn't seem to be any winning.  Just surviving and keeping my sanity.  And maybe, just maybe...