He Ceased to be Afraid of Death by Anfisa Doroshenko

Mr Brodbeck, an acclaimed scientist and a real snob,
has overcome almost 5 thousand meters to be in that Buddhist temple, covered in a thick shroud of fog. Mount Everest from that point looked like a focal decoration. Shaggy yaks stood pensively near the entrance to the poor temple that rather resembled the slums in Rio. That place had a sense of untouched beauty. It was often skipped by most tourists. Some monks in their vermilion dresses welcomed Mr Brodbeck, who thought his back and head were beginning to get numb. Deadly tired, he sat down on the nearest bench, staring at his undusted sneakers. The monk (it was difficult to determine his age) quietly approached.
One in six die on the way back down from the top of it. Did you know? – Mr Brodbeck said with his arms akimbo. He chewed a gum to remain his ears ‘open’, and he felt his cheeks going hot.
 Yes. – The monk barely moved his lips. – But are you afraid of death?
Mr Brodbeck was pleasantly surprised by monk’s English, he himself hardly mastered 4 languages and did not like those for whom learning did not cause any difficulties. But he was more surprised by the question.
Am I? – that giggle was nervous.
You did this, we all did. In my first life I was a spider. I had eight legs….
 The hysterical laughter, which was unbearably difficult to restrain for Brodbeck, shook his body like an electric current. 
Wait, man, let me say. If it is one of your honey traps for tourists, I don’t want to listen! I know your tricks. Firstly, you tell some ramblings and then “Money, money, sir!”
Don’t be so skeptical, my friend. You also might be an animal or a plant. Even just a leaf!
I do not remember when we made friends. Have a nice day. Maybe, someone will fall for you stories.
(…)
The snow enveloped him. He lost both his navigator and his courage. Furthermore, he was close to losing faith in finding him by anybody. He was taken captive by snow and ice. And then there was either a dream or a vision. Was he in fever? Maybe. It seemed to him that he was a hornbeam leaf. He was born in the springtime. His first memories were about the sun and pale blue sky, the fringe of tiny wooden houses round a lake that tinged a kind of pink at dawn and of Indian blue at sunset. His birth on the end of a branch high above the ground was difficult, but very beautiful. The tiny leaf was as green, as leaf could be. It saw other leaves, people and animals. Sometimes it was stroked by the breeze and sometimes washed-up with rain. But nights got much longer… One day the leaf let go of his branch, flattering for a while like a yellow canary. It was dead soon after the fall.
Mr Brodbeck woke up. He was still in snow captivity. But something in him has changed. For a minute he really thought that behind his shoulders was not one life, but several of them. He ceased to be afraid of death. But it has not come yet. After a short time, Mr Brodbeck heard the sound of a rescue helicopter.