'The Hike' - Chapter Twenty-Two - Cringe
Chapter 22:
Night 11:
The two beers and the whole lazy vibe after Kozia Stena pushed me back into the attic once more. The trauma from almost falling to my death after Echo Hut was almost gone. I started feeling sleepy. I went and took a quick shower—you can’t waste any water up here—and then up the ladder, back into my kingdom, where my body collapsed into oblivion in a second.
Day 12:
I woke up to someone hammering on the bathroom door, repeatedly. The sound went through my head like a hammer pounding a pumpkin. I felt the anger bubbling up inside me. The poor woman who passed by when I stuck my head out of the attic to see who dared disturb my dream took the full blast. I channeled it into a vomit of complaint.
She nearly jumped out of her skin. The angry, high-pitched voice came from above, and when she looked up, all she saw was a floating head screaming at her. She quickly realized what I was yapping about—and disappeared.
Later, the hut owner told me it was the wind slamming the door. But as usual, my anger gave me the right to do whatever I wanted, so I carried on with my life without apologizing to the poor lady who met my wrath.
I ordered a big breakfast to cover the shame of being a jerk once again, and while the food was being served, I collected my baggage and brought it down for an easier start to today’s journey.
I thought about going over the kilometers I had actually done, but that wasn’t a surprise to me—nor was my failure. So why bother? I don’t know. Am I lacking awareness? Or am I toxically positive about my goals? Why dissect this right now?
I ate like a champ, strapped my bag on my back, said goodbye to the only person there—a gypsy handyman who told me bits of his life around the hut and family—and went on my way once more.
I immediately felt alone. The physical pain was numbed, almost distant, but the shame of that early interaction stayed raw. I lost the chance to say I’m sorry for the tone I used with that lady. Even if she had been hitting the door, I had no right throwing my words like stones at her. Hopeless, I drifted forward, barely aware of the trail under my feet.
Nothing around me demanded attention, yet the wide view ahead and the hot press of the sun kept me moving, hunting for the next strip of shadow.
Little by little, smaller trees began to appear along the road. Not long after, they grew bigger, forming clusters that offered the shade I needed. I started to feel relief.
The walking became more challenging, and soon I left the trees behind, climbing up a hill that opened to the first hut on the horizon: Dermenka Hut.
I pulled the hat off my head and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I wondered if I wanted to stay here tonight, but that felt ridiculous. To lose another day by stopping at the first hut in this warm weather was madness.
To get to Dermenka, you have to ignore the path leading right along the fence toward the next hut, and instead surrender yourself to laziness inside this beautiful house.
I’d only been walking two kilometers. I could do better than that.
What I didn’t know back then was that a year later, I’d return here with my friend—and this time, I’d stay...
Iliya Badev
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