PW: Surpass This Incline
From Create Your Own Story
Of no meaning now that it is grated into the sand, the boat slowly clambers out onto the gelatinous pink sea, illuminated by an electric storm. The wood filed by the teeth of ten-thousand atoms: you take the regular approach to this new item of an incline. You wonder if it will offer wares to allow you to climb to the top and treat it as a sort of climbing wall.
The teeth of stone look as rugged as knives and as acerbic as sulphur. Some stones point blatant and threatening swords at you chest, feet and eyes. You wonder now whether it is these which will affirm the game of Existential doom you've been waiting to douse, that slither of lifelessness required to splice your soul from off the hands that are an adhesive to the mortal coil and disintegrate your blessed eternities in other much softer liaisons.
You contemplate this not at length, however, and prepare to weaponise your bravado and will to pervert this terror; you arouse joy in this darkest of hours yet, as your soul is still glowing and fairly young. Then the sand is glittering, the winds help you at the back, the distance to climb is foreshortened, dwarfed, after this vow of confidence.
You take one gulp of fresh white air and let your will do the final decision.
