How to Get a Leg Up in Life The First Second Cut (The Wrong Right)(Part 2) But don’t you remember? We’re already on a mountaintop… You press the knife to your flesh, and the sound it makes as it tears through is worse than anything I’ve ever heard. A wet, sickening squelch that makes the bile rise in my throat. Blood spills out, staining the snow beneath us in violent, vivid streaks. The mountain, so pristine and holy, is desecrated now. But it doesn’t care. It watches, silent and eternal, as it always has. You scream — raw, guttural, animalistic. It’s the kind of scream that doesn’t belong to humans, the kind that only escapes when something inside you is dying. The sound echoes in the still air, bouncing off the ice and stone, mocking us. You grit your teeth, trying to hold it in, but it bursts out anyway. I hate myself for watching. I hate myself for waiting. But more than anything, I hate myself for what I’m about to do. “Take it,” you gasp, your voice shredded and broken. “Just… take it.” And I do. God help me, I do. My hands tremble as I reach for the offering you’ve made, this horrific gift of flesh and bone. It’s still warm, the blood slick and steaming in the frozen air. I bring it to my mouth, and the taste is… wrong. Metallic. Bitter. It feels like swallowing shame. It feels like betrayal. But I chew, and I swallow, and I take more because I have to. Because you insisted. You sit there, pale and shaking, your breath ragged and shallow. Your eyes are half-closed, staring at nothing. The blood loss is taking its toll, and I can see it in the way your body sags, the way your fingers twitch uselessly in the snow. “Thank you,” I sob through the salted tears and ground meat, though the words feel hollow. They mean nothing. They’re ashes in my mouth. Bitter. Metallic. Wrong. You don’t respond. You already lost the game. And I let you. But don’t you remember? We’re already on a mountaintop…
