School was great today, the air outside vibrant and the smell so magical.  Everyday on the way back home, I walk past that behemoth.  Its brownish trunk sewn with markings and crevices for climbing.  The branches seemingly abundant and random, as if it was a spider-web.  Hundreds upon hundreds of years it has stood still, strong, unwavering, and unchallenged.  Taller than everything around, I have my eyes set on conquering the wooden king.  It is just a matter of patience.
After a long day of school and going out with the family, it is time.  My confidence coincides with my desire for not bringing a rope.  All I need is my bare hands.  The walk is about two kilometers from my house. 
“Wait!” 
In an instant my head turns one-hundred and eighty degrees to see my sister racing towards me in panted breath.  Begrudgingly, I let my beloved sister come along.  I ignore the small talk (about the school day and the weather) in an attempt to concentrate on the task that awaits me. She told me that she wanted to come along and watch me, though my instincts sensed an underlying motivation behind that innocent smile.  My toes feel tingly and my legs are excited.  The adrenaline must be kicking in.  The massive tree comes into view and the sky has turned into a dim gray.  I take a deep breath and struggle to keep my excitement under control as the monster gets closer.  Climbing trees was an endeavor I had undertaken many times before, but no experience could prepare me for this.
“I’ll just watch you climb!”  My sister pronounced. 
Thank God.
I set my right foot on a low notch and look up.  The temperature is cool with a moderate wind. 
Just how I like it.
Up on the tree about fifteen feet, I realize that the behemoth is much taller than I had realized.  Instead of thinking about how far I had left to accomplish the task, I kept my mind focused on small increments. 
This ten-foot section.  The next couple crevices.  Another 10 feet.
I am halfway up the tree.  I decide to stop, plop down on a big sturdy branch, and observe the world around me.  The clouds had parted just enough to allow the sun to peek through.  This caused the sky to turn into a beautiful purplish-yellow tint.  My hands are the color of the gigantic tree-trunk and my arms are scattered with indistinguishable marks and smudges.  It’s time to finish the task!
“Get going Blake!”  She shouts.  I reply, “I was about to! Geez!”
Someone’s impatient.
             I continue my journey, being more cautious than before due to the fact that the branches on the tree and the objects on the ground were getting smaller.  Weighing one-hundred and fifty-five pounds,  I study every branch carefully.  I am three-fourths of the way to the top!  One hand on a branch or notch, then the opposite leg up, switch sides, and then rinse and repeat.  Some spots creak, but they have all been sturdy.  Seven branches stand between me and the very top.  I put my left foot down on a thick and seemingly strong appendage of the behemoth.  With my mind at ease, I take my time reaching for the next spot.  SNAP!  I lunge for the closest possible branch only to feel air.
“Blake!!!”
I sense the world turn upside-down around me.  All that I can come up with is to cover my head with my hands.  Time slows to a gentle crawl and it is almost peaceful and surreal.  I feel time stop, turn the world right side up, and then resume again.  They say your life flashes before your eyes, but nothing is running through my mind except how slow my fall is.  I hit the ground, the descent stops, and the world turns black. 
I open my eyes… I’m unaware how much time has passed.  My blurry sister is kneeling over me with another silhouette nearby.  The drowsiness feels like it will never stop.  I close my eyes again, but a rough hand keeps me awake.  BL-  The voice is incoherent to me.  AK-  It’s starting to become clearer. 
“BLAKE!” 
Father is calling out my name.  He must be keeping me up for fear of a concussion.  I am in my family’s living room, lying on the couch.  I notice stitches on my left leg.  All the ugly lines running down my entire shin.
“I stitched them on myself!” Father smiles.  My sister interjects, “Your leg hit a branch on the way down… breaking your fall.  It’s also why you didn’t hit your head.”  My dad continues, “You can’t go to sleep for another 4 hours, it’s midnight right now.”
I feel too tired to talk, but not to eat and watch television.  The living room clock hits 4:00.  My head lies on a cool pillow as I close my eyelids. 
I will never climb a tree again.