“That is where the mountain is.” I will never forget the deadly words leading me to hell. I, together with my partner, Jack, Roy, and Adam kept traveling around the world with a young heart. 

I could never forget the day we were standing in front of the notorious cliff of Mount Chogori. I felt like we were standing in front of a sleeping giant covered by tons of snow and ice. It was in June, and the calm weather provided us with excellent conditions for the summit. We’d got ropes on our bodies, pickaxes in our hands, leaning our bodies toward the perpendicular ice wall, staggering upwards like a snail carrying a backpack. 

The first hour went on smoothly, but in no time, the sky was turning dark. The chilling wind was striking our coats and shoes, tardily depriving the warmth of our bodies. We were lost in the milky world of mist. It was strongly recommended to stop climbing, but we continued climbing regardless of the harsh environment. Snow began to fall. My arms and legs were freezing cold. I looked down, noticing Jack didn’t fare much better. I could see his shaking pickaxe hardly catching the smooth ice, and the rope tied on my waist seemed much heavier than it used to be. He crumbled on the ice cliff with difficulty, as if a fish wriggling on the beach, hurrying back to the ocean. 

By some mysterious means, I pulled the rope around my waist and tried to help Jack climb up. Probably frightened by the unanticipated pull, Jack slipped and fell into the endless milky abyss. I felt the rope around my waist tighten suddenly, and my pickaxe was trembling, holding the unbelievable weight of me and Jack. My arm was losing consciousness. We were falling into the abyss of the snow unless I did something.

I had no choice. I looked at the small knife hanging on my coat.