Scab Mountain

I gritted my teeth and whined, then I stared at my bloody fingers, pricked with needle rocks. And my aching stomach, swirling with poisonous berries. My hair, a mattes mess, scabs on my forehead and cheeks.
Then I realized I had done it.
I had. I had climbed Mt. Everest, to the very top. Was i regretting it? Or just not rebelling in my victory? News crews and crowds rest at the bottom. I, the youngest person to climb Mt. Everest, at 14 years old. I was relieved to be alone for a while. Those hundreds of people were hundreds of feet away. I heard nothing but peaceful silence.
I took a breath, with it turning to cold fog, and I held my Windbreaker on close. It was cold.
I dragged my legs up, and threw my rope into a pile. The ragged rocks stuck through my holed shoes, and the blood on my forehead began to dry. I was very dehydrated. I slid a finger across it, then pulled it down and licked my bloody finger. Warm liquid. I salivated, but I wouldn't further eat myself. Was it worth it? Climbing to the top--scabs, blood, and all--for fame? I hadn't even wanted fame. Just a hike. I wish all the newsies would take one. I swished the spit in my mouth, hoping it'd act like water. In failure, I reached for a block of ice. I dusted the dirt off it and stuck it in my mouth. Cold, cold. I thought. Cold but quenching.
I took another and ate it. Drops fell from my teeth. Something warm. It must be warm.
Warm like blood.
I shook the thought from my mind. I wanted to get home, but I also wanted it to stay peaceful up here. The Windbreaker flapped in the wind. I grabbed the robe and swing the axe metal to stick at the bottom, hundreds of feet below. I tied the end I had to a rock. It would hold my weight, by I cold easily intentionally pull it down.
I grappled the rope , and took a last look at the scenery. Beautiful. I was friction careful. I slid down, but slowly. In an hour and a half I was on the ground.
They surrounded me and swarmed. I answered all their questions, while being forced to stare into the hateful camera. When  done my dad viciously bear hugged me. "We'll be picking up your mother at the record station. They just aired the podcast about you." He said. I smiled. People said revenge was sweet. I say that regret is sour at first.
Then it changes your whole life.