I somehow managed to get myself in the tree. Broke a nail, cracked another one, and ripped my right shoe and my trousers on the thigh area. I felt like a mess, and now I started looking like one, too.
But the most important thing was that I was now in the tree. I planned on going on the branch, cling to the wall, then somehow jump on it and across. Sounds easy enough.
I catch my breath, take a big gulp of courage, and go on my way.
Hands first, one half-palm at a time, I inch my way towards the small part of the wooden limb.
Three palms later, I arrive at the middle. The sweat is pouring down my banana-colored face, my t-shirt is already soaked, and the blood from my nailless finger is starting to itch. In fact, it's almost burning. I wish I could put it in water and plaster the sucker... I'm losing my mind. I can feel it. But I can't linger. I'll figure this crap later.
I've advanced another palm's distance and I feel I can jump to the wall. Oh, lovely brick wall, how close you are.
Alright...one...two...three...heave... I can't do it. I'm rooted to this fuckin' thing and I can't move a muscle. What the hell? Come on...come on... Nope. My body doesn't want to. I am so weak. Can't fight for what I want. I might as well go down. Can I do that?
No. My feet won't move, either.
God, I look like a cat burglar. This is stupid.
"Doing a photoshoot?" Stacy said from behind me. It scared the shit out of me, but still couldn't make me flinch, for some reason.
"Yeah, something like that."
"Come down."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"My body's not cooperating."
"Oh. I'll get Jim. I'm sure he knows what to do."
"I'm sure he does."
On that sour note, she left.
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