Red Mountain Saved My Life
The day I decided to take my own life began like any other. I woke-up, bathed, dressed, ate, and went to school. I suffered through the taunting and teasing of my peers, the ridicule of my instructors, and the monotony of what had become my life. I was seventeen.
I set out on foot with a determination to throw myself from the peak onto the sharp rocks below. I did not know the way, but I could see the mountain in the distance several miles away. The day was beautiful and sunny; not a cloud in the sky. But it did not stay that way for long.
Less than an hour into my journey, the sky turned dark and it began to rain. I continued toward the mountain through the rain and the storm became more fierce. Soon the sky was black, the land thick with fog. I could not see the mountain any longer. I continued to walk toward the place where I though the mountain was and came to the Salt River, now swollen with water. I crossed it and began to make my way through a junk yard when it began to hail. The hail became larger until I was forced to seek shelter. I climbed inside a concrete pipe and sat holding my arms close to my chest, shivering.
I prayed and felt a warm sensation in my chest. The warmth spread throughout my entire body until I stopped shivering despite the cold. I abandoned my intention. I decided to live. The hail stopped, so I walked toward a road, looking for a phone and the storm began to subside. I made a call and the rain stopped. When my ride arrived, I climbed into the car and looked out the window towards the mountain. The fog had cleared enough to see it again.
I live outside of Arizona now, but each time I return there is one place I always go. I am drawn to it in a way. Summoned. I belong there. Not in the way I feel at home in my house; I own my house, it belongs to me. I do not own this place, however: it owns me. That place is Red Mountain.
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