Six Of Foxes (Six Foxes)
Christas
Krista looked up into the darkness. Far above him, a small patch of gray night sky floated. Six levels to climb in the darkness with slippery hands as sweat and hellfire burn beneath, with mines weighing down on them and without nets to catch them. Climb, Krista.
Empty hands are best for climbing, but the walls of the combustion furnace are so hot that they do not allow bare hands, therefore, the, Reyn and Tera help Krista nudge Ken's gloves from the laundry barrel. Krista was hesitant. Ken would tell him to put on the gloves, to do whatever was necessary to get the job done. Nevertheless, Krista strangely felt guilty as she sheathed pliable black leather material into her hands, as if she had slipped into Ken's room without permission, reading his letters, lying on his bed. The glove was not layered, while the fingertips turned out to hold a scrap of tear. For the dexterity of the hand, Krista realized, so that she could touch coins or cards or fiddling with strange keys. Touch without touching.
There is no time to adjust to the oversized gloves. After all, he often climbs with his gloved hands when the winters in Moontown shake his bare fingers. Krista stretches her toes on small leather sandals, enjoys an already familiar texture on the soles of her feet, skips around with a rough rubber sole, fearless and enthusiastic. Hot weather is nothing, it's just uncomfortable. A two-meter-long mine burden wrapped around his body? He's a Cat, he's a Demon. He had once endured a heavier one. He threw himself into the chimney full of confidence.
When his fingers touched the stone, his breathing sizzled. From behind the leather material though, he could feel the evenly distributed heat in the bricks. Without gloves, his skin would instantly blister. However, he could do nothing but hold on. He climbed-hands then feet, then hands again, looking for the next small crack, the next niche in the slippery wall of soot-soaked.
A pellet slid from his back. They had flushed the mines and Krista's clothes with water, her blood flowing as if she were being cooked slowly in her own skin.
His feet were throbbing with heat. Her legs feel heavy, no, just like everyone else. Krista tried to calm herself down. He trusts his body. He knew his own strength and knew exactly what he could do. The hands went back up, forcing his arms and legs to work together, looking for rhythm, but only finding a clumsy tempo of convulsions that made his muscles tremble every time he lifted. He reached for the following grip, gripping firmly. Climb, Krista.
His next leg suddenly lost contact with the wall due to a slip. Stoned, to grip the crack, Ken's gloves clumped around his damp fingers. His toes again sought a foothold, but instead slipped on the surface of the brick. Then his other leg began to slip as well. Krista gasped, hot air inhaled into her lungs. Something's not right. He ventured to look down. Far below, he saw the red glow of coal, but what shook his mind to the point that his heart was pounding frantically was what he saw at his feet. There's a sticky lump. Her sandal soles-her favorite-melt perfect feet-deep.
It's okay Krista said in her heart. Just change your grip. Pile the weight on your shoulders. The rubber will cool the higher you go up. Then you can stand on your feet again. However, his legs were burning. Seeing what was happening somehow aggravated the situation, it was as if rubber was fused with his skin.
He pushed up and slid his foot on the surface of the brick. He leaned his entire body against the wall in a hurry while he struggled to gain a grip. No one can save him here. No net would catch him if he fell, no Ken would come to his aid, only a fire was ready to engulf him.
Krista tilted her head back, looking for a patch of sky up there. The distance still looks unusually far away. How far? Six meters? Nine meters? It wouldn't make any difference for miles. Krista will die here, slowly, horribly from being roasted by coal. They'll all be dead-Ken, Silva, Tera, Reader, Reyn-and all that because of his fault.
No. gabe. He's not the one who's wrong.
Krista piled one leg back to push herself up-Ken who brought us here-and then the other leg-Ken who was in charge of all this----- who brought us here-and then the other leg-Ken who was in charge of all thishe forced himself to find the next one. Ken and his greed. Krista doesn't feel guilty. He has no regrets. He's just mad. Angry at Ken for trying to work on this crazy job\, angry at himself for agreeing.
Why would he agree? To pay off debt? Or because of common sense and good intentions Krista failed to dispel the growing sense of the b*jing*n Krisbow?
~Next Krista 2
