The orange sun pierced the sky just above the mountain peak. Sweat trickled down her back. From the base of the mountain she had to crane her neck to see the peak. As she took a step towards it her feet ached in protest.

The wind whistled over the sturdy brick bridge to her left. She glanced over at it. Her exhaustion swept over her. A tug deep in her heart pushed her towards the bridge. The water far below sparkled in the morning light. It babbled up at her urging her forward.

Humid air clung to her face pushing the air from her lungs. Her muscles ached. Looking up at the mountain drained her energy. She always knew that she couldn’t do it.

Her knees shook as she tossed her legs over the edge of the bridge. To let go meant no more struggling. To stay meant climbing that damn mountain every day. And she was out of shape. Might as well be obese.

I wish I could say that God bared her burden and lifted the weight from her shoulders. But in the morning light she was blinded. The world shrunk to two pinpricks: the bridge or the mountain.

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