Uphill...

Walking uphill is hard enough, but the wind doesn't cool me from the blistering heat. It assaults my body with dirt and whips my neck and face with my hair, stings my eyes with my sweat. I sit to rest and grass that should be soft and welcoming is coarse and covered in burrs, leaving me scratched and bloodied, a fool for seeking rest and refuge from my labor. 

I continue up the hill, pestered by insects that swarm and sting and fly in my face. I tear my sleeve from my shirt and tie it around my face to keep them from invading my mouth and nose, but they're constantly in my face, buzzing in my ear.

Driving me insane with their buzzing.

Night comes, but it would be foolish to hope it comes with relief. The heat may have ended, but the cold is just as brutal. My clothes, still wet from the sweat of day, now cling to me as I shiver in the cold of the night. I would continue to walk, but the light from the moon isn't sufficient to light my way. So I wait and shiver.

The sun peeks over the mountain the next morning, and though I am sore, I start again. Every day. The top of the hill is just as far away. Every day. I never get any closer, but they say I have to reach the top of that hill. They tell me I should happy the sun is shining. They tell me I should be happy the grass is green. They tell me I have legs so I should be happy. I should be happy.

Should I be happy?