My View of the World Essay

As I stand here looking over the lush green foliage of thousands of trees, I glanced down toward the base of the mountain to see curvy, windy roads, weaving in and out between tiny little box houses, plotted around here and there. I can see for miles and miles, the views are breath taking. That’s mostly why people come to see me, to look out with me, to see the fantastic views. My arms are sore from standing here for about 75 years, just doing nothing but wondering. For many months I have started to think what is beyond the horizon of the sea. There could be a whole new world over the edge. Is there even an edge? Who knows? Years ago those little things climbed on my feet, just to get a better view or to pose in front of a compact box, with a blinding flash for a couple of seconds, but now there are large metallic fences at my feet. This is predominantly because I am old, weary and wearing out so I need protecting. People get here in many different ways, clear boxes which travel up and down continuously, moving stairs, or climbing 222 steps reaching the summit, exhausted. Oh yeah! I forgot to say about the odd people that walk all the way up the ridge of mount Corcovado who wear small shorts, long pulled up socks, big chunky boots, weird hats and really, really big bags on their backs. They come in there hordes, they come in all shapes and sizes; big ones; small ones; fat ones; thin ones; some are noisy; some are quiet; some just scream and laugh; some are in awe of me and gaze up at me, as I gaze out at the horizon. These people see me as a god, but if only it were true because all I want to do is just fly to the moon, to the white wonderful wide space, where I could rest my sore painful arms and legs. No one knows the pain I’m in or even know I have any feelings. I remember the journey of how I came to be here. I was created by a local engineer called Heitor da Silva Costa. He made me out of reinforced concrete and layers of soap stone. Firstly I was going to be made out of steel but that wouldn’t of had much of a chance against extreme weather conditions. I was built in small chunks and slowly brought to the top by a struggling train on the Corcovado Rack Railway. Then I was pieced together bit by bit, slowly rising above the ridge to embrace the people of the world. Through my amazingly large nostrils I can smell the wondrous cuisine from the land below swirling and rising up the mountain side. Just after dark the surroundings black out and all attention is drawn towards the bright lights of the city. Although no one else sees it, it’s not all happiness up here. I have seen many things in my life like robbery’s, suicides, murders, but what always happens almost every night is groups of people sell drugs and sit there injecting liquids into their arms, snorting dust and sniffing corrosive fumes of acids. The fumes are so strong even I get a headache and my heads made out of concrete! It is disgusting what they do, but it is what they want to do, and what could I do any way. As dawn emerges it makes up for the previous night. The sun rises and a new day begins. In the early morning, the mountain air is fresh and crisp; the sun rises leisurely, bringing a slow warmth to the city. The most beautiful part of the day is now, when it is peaceful and you can hear the chirping of the birds below. The heat from the sun breaks through my layers of soap stone reaching into the hard cold concrete inside.