He tied his boat off and started to climb up the cliffs. He knew that no one had lived to tell what lay behind the cloud, but still he climbed. With each torturous grasp onto the sheer, sandpaper like stone, came his dreaded gasp for air as he made his next step. Precisely adjusting each naked toe into the diminutive crevice, the shift in weight was a delicate game of Jango. Each move he made brought another precarious puzzle to be solved and another abundance of agitation. Every vital breath carried the essence of damp moss and salty ocean mist. Fear brimmed his sapphire eyes. Never peering beneath his abscessed two feet he endured towards the summit. Suddenly nothing was to be seen. Thick white clouds drowned him like blackness at the bottom of the ocean. With his own life in his hands, his predetermination and pride carried him to success. The last grab was essential. Trembling vibrantly his chafed fingers latched into a humble abyss that lay untouched on top of the cliff. Hoisting himself up with everything he had left, he escaped the heavy white blanket of clouds and collapsed onto the impenetrable rock surface. Grass so green it looked surreal was painted over the surface along with white daisies that danced along with the chirping birds. A small grass hut settled in the middle. Unlike others, this man had survived the seventy foot ascend to his everlasting, beloved fathers cabin.
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