If I Had Never Had Light

I stood at the foot of the mountain, scorched by the blazing sun. I looked toward the distance — thorns everywhere, cliffs and crags at every turn.

I saw a blinding beam of light. An old man carried it to me.

Young one, take it. It will help you overcome all obstacles and ascend to the summit. At the top, you'll find everything you desire.

Led by it, I crossed the thorns, traversed the valleys, and climbed to the peak.

I stood atop the mountain, gazing down at everything within sight. The summit held everything I desired.

And now — where to go from here?

But I had been running upward for so long. Momentum pulled at me. It was no longer up to me.

So I set off again, racing toward another mountain in the distance, its peak beyond sight.

I had already summited many peaks, crossed countless valleys, trampled endless thorns. All of it had become habit — nothing could be easier.

Mountains were no longer mountains. Valleys were no longer valleys. The thorns had vanished.

Now, where should I go?

I decided to return to where it all began. I decided to go back down.

I leaped.

A colorful little bird kept me company — strange, I'd never noticed it before. It hummed a song now and then. Did it always sing? Could anyone hear?

Halfway down, a clear mountain spring splashed into my eyes. Was it sweet? How I wished I could taste it.

I saw a little boy standing at the foot of the mountain. Was that me?

Warm sunlight wrapped around me tightly, and unlike on the way up, I didn't struggle to break free.

I saw the little boy gripping a slingshot, as if aiming at me.

I could no longer see.