The rise
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| Rise, short story by Patricia Naselle |
When he opened the door I found I was afraid, I knew what was expected of me. I had to wrap under a pair of sheets so they will not hurt, I loaded it with great care and began to ascend the mountain on the left bank, which is softer and is free of the stone girl loose, so treacherous. I climbed all day, at dusk my shoulders were injured under their weight and those heights a cold wind blowing. Reached the top at the moment, against the night sky a shower of shooting stars adorned the infinite. Unwrapped and arranged the camera. Some coals began to burn. The great fire of the phoenix reborn was ready.
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