Sunrise Jennifer Luan Yr 7 Thump. Crack! Thump. Thump. I was trapped in the monotonous rhythm of my breathing and the thumping of my feet on the dusty floor, littered with leaves dipped in stunning red and gold. I had been walking for hours without stopping, my determination the only thing keeping me upright. At first, the crack of twigs snapping under my boots and the light pitter-patter of rain helped, but eventually, it blended into the relentless sound, that were desperate for me to stop, for me to give up. However, I had sworn to myself I would not give up. I would not venture so close to the peak only to give up and return to camp, shame-faced and exhausted. I was so engrossed by the regular rhythms, that I failed to register the cliff. It was when I stepped over the edge to certain death I noticed. My feet slipped out from under me, and I was pulled over the edge. My fingers scrambled desperately, searching for a handhold. With an inhuman effort, my gloved hands found the smallest indent in the rockface, allowing me to hold on, but nature didn’t give up so easily. The rain pounded on my back and fingertips, urging me to let go, to give in. I had seconds to haul myself up before I would fall into the endless abyss under me… That was when I remembered the hook. A grappling hook, a gift from my father. “You will know when you need it,” he said. I took a deep breath, my fingers slipping a millimetre more towards the edge in every second I hesitated. In one lightning-fast move, I whipped out the hook with a rope attached, let go of the cliff and thrust the needle-sharp point into the slippery wall. Grunting with the effort, I hauled myself up. Craning my neck, I looked to see how far I was from the edge and was reminded of how my parents trained me for this. They would dangle me off a wall; my only method of salvation was their hands—They would pull, pretending to gasp at how heavy I was. The cold, seeping deep into my bones, reminded me of the situation I was in, and I began to climb again. The rain had slowed to a drizzle when I finally pulled myself away from the clutches of the cliff. After the near-death experience, I was even more battered and tired now. The rest of the trip seemed to pass in a blur, and I almost didn’t notice I was at the end until I realised I had emerged from the thick undergrowth. I collapsed on the floor, panting. Then, the realisation struck me. I had done it! I was the first person to make it to the top of Death Mountain. I looked around, searching for the flower that would prove I had made it. After plucking it from the branches of a young sapling, I sat down on the cliff edge, once again precariously balanced on the slippery rock-face. The mountains lined up in front of me, half-obscured by the misty tops of hills. Suddenly, a small yellow spark appeared, followed by a huge ball of light that hurt to look at. Lying back, I thought about how I could finally rest after weeks of gruelling travel. At that moment, I felt like the luckiest person in the world to be able to watch the sunrise at the top of Death Mountain.
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