Dear 100 Hour Board:
When I'm on BYU campus and look up to the north-east at the pointy mountain that I think of as the Lion King rock, if I really look hard I think I can see something on top of it -- like maybe a pole or a flag.
Is there really something up there? If so, what is it? How did it get up there? Or am I imagining it?
Day 1: Dear Diary, today I start my journey to Squaw Peak, in order that I might discover what it is that sits at the top and towers over all. I am optimistic that I shall reach the top in good time and safety. I travel alone and I leave early this morning, long before the sun has yet risen over the tops of the mountaons. There is a distinct chill to the air and the crunching of my shoes on the gravel echoes in the canyon. I shall shoulder on.
Day 3: I have underestimated the length of this journey. I thought I would be done by now but I wandered onto the wrong path and took much time to recorrect. My provisions might run short.
Day 6: I came across a rock earlier this morning, with strange etching on it. My spirits fell. I am only now just reaching the proper trail.
Day 8: I wander long hours and find my nights are filled with terrors rustling in the bushes. There is little to eat in the natural environment and I fear my rations are running short. I have emptied my bag to find two water bottles, two fiber one bars, a strange curvaceous yellow fruit, headphones, an umbrella, keys, my journal, a hairbrush, Chapstick, contact solution and breath freshening drops. I also have a fork and a single band-aid for any grievous wounds I may suffer. I have included a bit of my finger for size reference.
Day 15: I ate the curvaceous fruit. I was desperate. Even the rocks look appetizing to me now. I fall asleep dreaming of their hot, freshly boiled cracks, oozing with butter. I wake with the gritty taste of dirt in my mouth and stones clutched in my fists.
Day 29: My legs ache and my lungs burn as I ascend this God-forsaken mountain. When will it end?
Day 35: I hate you.
Day 47: I hate me.
Day 82: Such agony is surely unbearable. The heat is rising quickly and the flies descend upon my delicate flesh. They bite and tear and I itch as if hot with fever. There is no respite.
Day 134: A miraculous gift has been bestowed upon me. I am able to draw from a hidden well of energy deep within. I shall call this gift a second wind.
Day 134.5: Second wind gone as quickly as it had come.
Day 254: Third wind?
Day 254 1/4: False alarm.
Day 745: Sometimes I am struck by the beauty of this barren, murderous landscape. Mostly I just cry myself to sleep, listening to the howl of the coyotes and the buzzing of the malaria-infested mosquitoes.
Day 642: Lost track of the days. Could be Tuesday. Could be Friday. Could be Halloween for all I know. Time moves strangely up here where the wind blows across the hot rocks and weaves the dust into my hair.
Day 1,333: I have discovered the Fount of Life-Giving Water That is Also Really Cold Which I Like Because Warm Water is Gross. It burbles forth from sort of man-made creation and has greatly refreshed me.
Day something or other: I have dysentery.
Day 513: At last. I can see it. I can hear it and taste it and feel it and very nearly touch it. I have reached the top of this arduous peak. I am collapsed, exhausted and alone but I am here. And all I can see is one stolid black flag pole with the American flag atop, blowing in the wind. I would cry tears of joy and wonderment if I was not severely dehydrated. How it got there and who put it there is henceforth unknown, but it has been cemented into a crevice in the rock and there it remains, night and a day. I shall return to the valley, forever changed by my solitary journey into the unknown darkness.