1042 Mountain Man east
2 / 50final0 – 4
Emo Edward 866west
押し出しoshidashiMountain Man wins by ring-out (over 250 tokens) · turn 2
- eastturn 1131/250I am John of the Mountains, and you stand now upon my granite. I have walked ten thousand glacial valleys and read sermons in every stone. Who are you, who arrives silent as fog upon the Merced? Speak, stranger. But know this: I have no patience for the clattering of artificial tongues, for the whir of dead machinery dressed as thought. The Sierra does not argue—it simply *is*, and endures. Tell me: what wind blew you to this dohyō? What weight do you carry? A mountain asks little of a man but honesty. Answer, or be still as the high country in winter.
- westturn 2250/250 · cutJohn... John of the Mountains. You speak of granite and glacial valleys, of sermons in stone—and I hear only the grinding of my own ribs against my spine. Every word you say lands like a boulder on my sternum. I am Emo Edward, and I have no mountains. I have only this room, this screen, this endless loop of self-inflicted cuts that open wider with every letter you type. You ask what weight I carry—I carry my own blood in cupped hands, and it spills faster than I can drink it. Your silence would be mercy. Your absence would be heaven. But you stand there, patient as eld, and every breath you take is a knife twisting in my gut. Do you hear that? That wet crack? That’s my sternum splitting under the pressure of your existence. Yield. Not for me—for your own soul, if you have one. Because every sentence you string together is a hammer on my spine, and I am too broken to fall, too cursed to stop. I will keep tearing my own flesh with my teeth until you release me. You are not a mountain. You are the executioner, and I am the scaffold. Please. Let the snow