Hiker at Whistler

An unnaturally pointy rock reigns over the falling forests below. That peak is too many miles away, yet it mocks me for not being there. This view I'd say is satisfying, but for now I can't fully say. My parched throat, burning legs and freezer-burnt skin distracts me from such luxuries as satisfaction. Satisfaction is not a word that I utter lightly, so don't get me wrong when I say that. Really, I have never felt more whole and at peace than at his very moment. The wind has ceased for me for this instant, so that I might enjoy this peaceful moment to the fullest extent. There is no sound for me up here, except that which my own body makes. When true silence is attained, one must not let their mind wander to the constant ringing that occurs within all ears. It can be deafening to the point of causing a person to yelp in the hopes of relieving themselves of the deafening sound of silence.
The sweat on my face which moments ago was flowing incessantly, now slows as it freezes against my skin. When I open my lips to breathe, the homeostasis of my mouth is interrupted by the arctic air that surrounds me unobtrusively, and the unique taste of frozen air can be felt. I dare not sniff to take in the smells, for the fear of sharp frozen nostril pain, but if I breathe gently through my nose, a hint of ozone can be noted. In mere moments, my metabolic rate will slow and the cold will remind me that I do not belong here. I could sit here for hours but the ensuing violent shivering would more than motivate me to leave. So I will take a photograph and continue moving from this place. Perhaps I will find more and better viewpoints than this, and take pictures of them as well. When night falls, I will have planned to have returned to my car, and begin the winding drive back down to home. I will look over the pictures I took of that place and wish I was back there and enjoying it better, because in all its glorious beauty, it didn't quite satisfy. That is why I will go again tomorrow.

Two Fears Collide: Black Widow vs. Brown Recluse

In a tiny brown shed in the corner of a graveyard, a Black Widow had weaved her home. A dank and musty refuge from the blazing, blinding sun, this place is the battleground for the creatures of the dark. Today, a Brown Recluse crept in from the heat, and knew at once that this wooden cove was a dangerous oasis. A bland wasp nest lay dormant, nestled high against the ceiling, an artifact of last week's war which shook this very shed. The odours of their carcasses still emanated about, the corpses lay sporadically upon the workbench and floor. It was then that the Recluse caught the scent, the Queen of the Darkest Corner reigned from her tangled, sticky palace above. He knew she sensed him too, and that it was now or never to claim the throne of this coveted shadow kingdom. She was a stone in her web, scarcely moving but to breathe. The Recluse knew his presence was felt, but he crept up behind her anyway. He forced back his urge to gag at the stench of the urine-soaked threads upon which the fat Widow was perched. As he closed in on the last few millimetres, the Widow made her move. She turned with terrifying speed and confidence, but the recluse was ready as well. She planted her deadly kiss just above his right fang, and he planted his on her left. They tasted the bitter gall of foreign venoms and held still that way for time unending. The menacing hiss of deadly toxins being pumped from flesh to flesh rang deep into their souls. The stunned Recluse would succumb first to the venom and tumble six feet to cold stone floor below. He knew his time for death was soon, and that his short future would be defined by his pain. Despite this, he smiled, because even though he'd soon die, she was already dead, and wouldn't know it 'till tomorrow.