Failure. It started with failure; it always starts with failure. So says a Chinese proverb, "One learns a thousand lessons from failure, and only one from success," and that lesson is one of naught but rapaciousness. So, is that not the same as being successful in the end? Thus begins the story of one lone man trapped in the unforgiving mountains of the Himalayas during the harshest of winters.
His name was Oxford. Only twenty-four years old, he had quite the journey to go before he was scheduled to have his door knocked at by a certain grim figure. Death, however, had other plans in mind. Oxford planned to spend a winter in the small town of Dzanak in northern India. Vacationing alone, he took a break from the stress of a wife and two young children. Oxford decided to try his hand at mountain climbing.
Needless to say, he failed miserably and instead found himself stranded on an awkwardly positioned rock hovering over a gaping drop extending farther than the eye could see. Oxford did what any sane man does when he encounters a life-or-death situation where life is not manifest: he huddled into the fetal position and began to weep at the top of his racking lungs. The icy chunks of rock that surrounded him simply deflected his tears, and after a while, Oxford began to calm himself. He was now rapt in the whispering sound of the whistling wind whipping at his face. A gust of the frigid air had him sprawling on the ground, manacled to the equally wind-blasted rocky surface of the mountain. Oxford dexterously managed to emancipate himself from his prone position directly into one where he was genuflecting, sparing the last of energy to pray to whatever deity cared enough to get involved. His voice merely reflected off the walls, echoing for miles, carrying his message of hopelessness to the highest peaks of some unnamed mountains.
Oxford spent his last breath on his swift journey down the vertical side of the mountain.