​Just Quit

Just quit.

As I set foot upon the treacherous path ahead of me, my mind did not settle, did not sway, did not halt, and neither did I. I walked this path not because it had been forced upon me but rather because I felt the need to set myself a goal, something to give me meaning. A large, tiresome goal. The sun beat down upon me like the sea: powerful, raw, foreboding. I relented and walked on. I will make it. Right?

Just quit.

If I gave in now, if I listened to the whispers, then I would only grow resentment towards myself. Calves burning, thighs screaming, I was calm. I would not give up so early on in the journey; I would make it up to the summit. I had to. My goal was in front of me, the ginormous, perilous mountain peak was in front of me. I could make it. I could, right?

Just quit.

Fleeting joy, the weather was getting colder. Should I just turn back? I had climbed up enough anyway; after all, getting halfway was good. I slowly turned around and made my way down. It was a foolish goal anyway. What was so great at the summit? There was no treasure, no blessing, no good. I was only avoiding duty. But why did I feel empty? Perhaps the meaning was at the summit; maybe that was the treasure I had been searching for. I couldn’t quit now; I was only halfway. I had to finish what I had started. Right?

Just quit.

The snow consumed me like a hungry beast hunting its prey. My feet had lost feeling already. Suddenly, as if bending to my will, the trees opened up a path, a shortcut. Should I take it? I had nothing to lose. I walked in. Slowly, the path ahead of me faded into obscurity. Eyes everywhere yet none to be seen. Animals circled around me. I truly was prey. I continued on; the trees had stolen the sun away from me, hiding me from its cautionary gaze. I was truly alone. Was this shortcut safe? It was, right?

Just quit.

I ran back, the pain shooting up my legs did not matter, the wet black mud under me splattering all over me did not matter, the several lacerations across my calves did not matter. This was no shortcut; something so deeply unsettling, so wrong, could not be a shortcut but rather a highway to my end. I could not stop. I broke out of the forest, after what seemed like a marathon, back to where I was seemingly days before and continued running up the mountain without a thought but to reach the summit, to reach my meaning. Blood dyed the snow a vibrant red; I did not stop. After all, I would soon be done. Right?

Just go on.

A couple more steps and I’d be there, the peak, the summit, the goal I had been so keen on achieving. And yet why do I still feel so empty? Where was the meaning I had been searching for? Was it gone? What was I going to do next? What was I doing here wasting my time? I looked around: the radiant sun, the majestic snow, the magnificent view, that was the reason all along. How could I have forgotten to look around me? I had been so stuck on climbing I forgot to enjoy myself. A smile, a chuckle, I burst out laughing. Tears streaming down my face, carving out a sprawling river, how could I have been so blind? The future did not matter, what I was to do next did not matter. The next step, that is all that had ever mattered

im a new writer please tell me how to improve my writing. I only do short stories and the structure is very repetitive to be honest. this is for gcse aqa question 5 if you are wondering