On the edge of the abyss

We continue with the publication of the micro-stories of the first edition of the competition: High Altitude StoriesWe let you enjoy "Al borde del abismo", by Raúl Espurz Pirla.

On the edge of the abyss

-by Raúl Espurz Pirla-

Seven o'clock in the evening, little by little all the people who had been enjoying a beautiful day in the mountains until a few hours ago have disappeared, there is no one left around, which makes me very nervous and uneasy. I'm on the Vignemale glacier and I shouldn't be here alone at this hour. Rivers of thaw are running all around me, there is ice, snow, wet rock, it's getting dark and I can't see Baysellance, where I should be by now. It's time to go down on smooth, wet rock, 20 metres, crampons off, again. Just touching the rock turns into a fast slide that ends in a crevasse through which a river of icy water flows, where it seems I'll end up, I don't know if forever. My hands grip the rock until they bleed, but to no avail, I slip faster and faster. I think of my children.