Storygram: Heights

The New Bridge of Ronda towered high above her, and the rush of the waterfall swirled around her ears. It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear.

But how did it end up like this? She’d been rock-climbing in different regions of Spain, skilfully manoeuvring the jagged surface of various crags, cliffs and mountain ranges. It had been fun, going around with friends and scaling those challenging heights. Upon arriving in Ronda, the group had wanted to hike down towards the bottom of the gorge, survey what the mountain was like; but she didn’t want to do it, her heart was itching for that thrill of blood that can only come from going higher and higher...

Now she’s in a bit of a scrape. She couldn’t find good handholds to pull herself upwards, and she couldn’t go back either because for some reason she could barely toe the footholds from whence she ascended. She was stuck, in short, and her grip was slowly slackening.

What to do, what to do, she thought to herself.

There was a patch of grass above her. If she could grab that, and propel herself towards the bit of rock jutting out above, there might be some hope. Could she trust the grass though?

No choice, it had to be done. She closed her eyes, and lunged.