The mountain is dying . So she pushes onwards .
It is not her time to fight . The burden cascades from her shoulders and onto her grandchildren . Great grandchildren . However many “ greats ” it will take to right the wrongs of countless generations .
Right now they are babies crawling in the mud , the shape of “ no ” just starting to form on their mouths .
There is nothing le for her to teach them . The lessons etched into the folds of her mind are of a world she no longer recognises . No one will listen to her jigsaw memories of things that never happened , or tales of trial and error and error again .
Deep down she knows her descendants will make the very same mistakes as she . As all her children did . One day they will walk the same path on a different mountain . They will taste the same sour regrets on their tongues , and create more fledgling gods to keep on destroying the world .
But they will try again . And again . Until one day , the mountain will rise once more .
Now is not that day , and that very thought gives her no more disappointment than it does satisfaction .
Finally she reaches the cusp of the mountain , where the air is so thin that the saliva in her gums evaporates . She gasps for breath .
How fortunate that she only has one eye , because she can ’ t bear to see more than she already does . The pastures of her youth are burnt to a crisp ; a crumpled canvas of ash and bone .
Down below , kings and gods fight for what they want until they tug too hard and it shatters to pieces . Then move on to the next shiny thing .
Fight for women until their faces are swollen and they are no longer beautiful . Trample cities in search of a home .