/lit/ - Literature

The mountain was all that existed, or near enough. As soon as they were freed from the shackles of order and tedium they rushed to the hallway to put on their shoes and coats and hats and gloves and rushed out to the mountain. For the next fifteen minutes all that existed was the mountain, and all that mattered was who ruled the summit.
The mountain had been born of snow plowed from elsewhere in the yard, it reached taller than any of them, but not by much. Three or four separate layers of battle could be waged on those slopes. At times alliances were formed against stronger opponents, but the allies always betrayed one another in the end, for there could be but one king on the hill at any time, and that price was worth any hurt to another's feelings, worth any knife in the back or heart.
To be king of the hill is to stand above all others, to be their better. You survey the meaningless world beyond the mountain of snow and sneer at it, for none of it means anything compared to the mountain. Above you is only the sky, and the sun, moon and stars shine only for you.
Then another overcomes you and sends you plummeting down. The king is dead, long live the king! Now all of creation has a new master, and this master is cruel and unworthy, so you begin your ascent again, you claw at those above you like a crab in a bucket, look now! there's a fool with their pants loose, pull on and they'll need both hands to protect their vain dignity, and when they do so another pushes them off and down they go and up you go, ever closer to that summit of summits, the summit of the gods themselves, the seat of absolute dominion, the prize of all prizes!
The battle rages. Is each in turn king on his summit, is each in turn a broken wretch at the bottom, each in turn at every point of the ascent and descent? Yes, in this they are all equal. The mountain is life, the mountain is the wheel of fortune that ever turns, grinding all to dust and elevating all to heights unimagined.
Too soon rings the bell, recess ends and the mountain must be abandoned. Cheeks are red with the cold and the strain, smiles all abound, clothing and hair all ruffled. Soon they will return to their battle. For now, a period of rest, of boredom in the warm classroom. They will stare at the clock and prepare. The prize awaits. In their minds, all that exists is the mountain.