Draft for travel writing (500 words):


Kilimanjaro

I'm here. Home. Finally. After my deadly decent from Kilimanjaro. The air here is somewhat different, more fragrant, more cool, more...appealing and welcome from up in the lairs of the mountain of Kilimanjaro. It splashes at my face - calming my expression instead of lashing at my face, burning me with its bitter charm. But this positive aspect is rudely being interrupted by constant unwanted pondering of thoughts and shivers as I replay fragments of my journey...

It’s my first dreary day and it’s hammering down. The rain feels like glass bullets piercing my soul increasing my lack of reality. Time has no meaning. I feel disorientated, out of control, seeping power to the mountains. Each step I take – I feel instantly weaker, my passion for climbing getting ever more deflated as it gets drained from me and replaced by what feels like a chain of disbelief and a lock preventing me to succeed.  I try to trooper on despite the negativity the weather has unleashed onto me.  But all I can see into the distance are trees, trees and more trees plastered in every direction, gradually decreasing in size due to the mountain perspective. I feel trapped in a maze, each course of action I take I am bounded by the same surroundings – it’s boring, no longer scenic and it’s only the first day of my three day trek! The wind has picked up rapidly (to my honour); it sends strands of my soaking wet hair gushing around in the wind, slapping me in the face every once in a while – for good measure I'm sure… My clothes are steadily disintegrating to my horror; they are torn, muddy and drenched – all qualities you aspire for in clothing that is meant to prevent you from over grown brambles, dirty material and water, at a minimum.  I lower my head, look at the floor and start to ascend the mountain (distances can be deceiving) – I can do this, I know I can!

My necks starts to feel strained, so I lift my head with hesitation and slight pain of motion. However the pain is put aside, when my attention is thrown towards the time of day it is presently. Night. Last time I looked up it was light out – day. I suddenly feel lost, disorientated; I must have got into a strict pattern of thought and action. But how can you be that oblivious to the change in light intensity? I must be dehydrated. I rummage through my rucksack to search for my water bottle but to my dismay its remains unseen. I need to find a water source - anything: a lake, a river, a puddle. Quick. As I abruptly search for water, my newly adapted night vision focuses in on the sky. It’s a calming, tranquil sky, full of colour and hope. It somehow soothes me, I continue to stare at its beauty... Although the sun had already set, gorgeous washed out streaks of purples and pinks remain; however attractive they are they’re being over powered by the ebony black canvas coating the ceiling above, but over staking the colour of the sky are the stars - they shimmer like diamonds, bringing life to the sky and to me.