My Tibetan guide, Miltung, was the only companion I had there on Mt. Everest. I was grateful he was knowledgeable of the terrain, area, and most importantly, what it takes to survive out there.
We took shelter in a small alcove, my legs had grown numb and tingly from being out in the cold for so long. We were both tired and worn out, especially with the thinner air up there, breathing had gotten tougher.
Miltung had reassured me that help would be there soon, but that was a week ago, I always expected the worst of things, being a pessimistic, cynical, realist, I felt that if I expected the worst, I would never be disappointed when things did go bad.
I can’t tell you how long we were up there, but I had started to complain about how I couldn’t feel my feet. Miltung told me to lay down flat on my back and he would remove my boots to try to massage warmth back into them. It had felt nice, at least I’d like to think it did since I couldn’t feel anything. After about fifteen minutes of this, I complained that my legs were getting colder and number. Miltung nodded his understanding and began to massage my legs as well.
But something wasn’t right, for some reason, my legs felt lighter with a very very faint stinging feeling. I felt a sudden hard jerk and tug on my left leg and finally decided to look down and see what he was doing.
I had wanted to vomit as I saw Miltung look up at me with a blood smeared face, strips of flesh in his teeth, and a desperate look in his eyes. He had already severed and devoured most of my feet and left leg, a Swiss army knife was stabbed into my numb dead right leg with a bootlace standing in as a tourniquet to staunch the syrupy blood flow.
That’s right, he knew how to survive up there, what it took to stay alive and healthy, he had done this hundreds of times. I wanted to scream, but as I had opened my mouth, he touched a cold sticky palm to my face and smiled, “That’s getting colder too”.
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Credits to: dastard82
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