When the bullet was fired

 I could never forget the day we were standing in front of the slider of Mount Chogori. “That is where the mountain is,” said Jack, motioning toward the impressive summit stretching far into the sky, and uttering the deadly words that would lead me to hell. I stood beside Jack, craning my neck uncomfortably upward and shielding my eyes from the day’s bright sun. We’d been traveling around the world, following our young hearts, but nothing had prepared us for this stunning sight.

I felt like we were standing in front of a sleeping giant covered by tons of snow and ice. The calm June weather provided us with excellent conditions for the ascent to the summit. The roads were still paved with snow, but the summer warmth mitigated the severe cold, and there was little risk of snowstorms.

A few hours later, the ropes were already tied around our bodies, and with pickaxes in our hands, we were already braving one of the mountains unforgiving ice walls. I leaned my body toward the perpendicular ice wall, inching upwards at a snail’space.

Everything went on smoothly at first, but in no time, the sky was turning dark. The horizon’s dying light bathed the cliff side in a purple, blue hue. We turned on the lights on our visors. The chilling wind was striking our coats and shoes, depriving our bodies of much-needed warmth. We were lost in the milky world of snow and icy wind. It was strongly recommended to stop climbing, but we continued climbing regardless of the harsh environment.

Snow began to fall around us. Here we were caught on this side of a cliff, surrounded by almost total darkness. There was at least another 20 meters until we reached the horizontal part of the cliff face. My arms and legs were freezing cold. I looked down, noticing Jack’s fingers and hands moved stiffly from the cold; each swing of his pickaxe a bit more awkward that the last. 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. His boots caught on the ice with difficulty and the ice crumbled beneath their grip, as if a fish wriggling on the beach.

I managed to pull 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 below us. I felt the rope around my waist tighten painfully. My right hand hung unto the pickaxe, trembling and 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.