You grab hold of a rope and it’s taught because there’s something heavy at the other end. You can’t see what it is that’s creating such gravity, but in your gut you know it matters. It’s down a hole, in such deep darkness you give up trying to catch a glimpse of anything. You’re going to have to pull this thing up if you wanna know what it looks like.
At first you pull because it’s working and you’re gaining ground on the mysterious weight. You look at your feet and see slack coil there as testament to your victories. But then your strength wains and the weight feels so much weightier.
You wrap the excess around your arm, hoping the friction will be your ally. It slows the descent and gives your muscles reprieve, but at a cost. The cord is like a snake and does not like being held still, so it twists and writhes, wriggling around your skin till it burns and bleeds. The pain reminds your strength of its job and quickly you fix your grip, but the damage is done.
The weight isn’t getting any lighter, it’s not getting any nearer the top of the abyss either. You look around, perhaps there’s something you can use. A tool, prop or a ledge, anything that will ease the pain or lift the burden. Nothing. Maybe a passerby, any person could notice your plight and lend a hand, surely? Noone.
You look at your hands and know they ache. You look at your arms and see the scars of your progress, and failures. The weight is not going anywhere. How strong do you think you are? How long can you last? What’s keeping you from letting go?