Tunneled beneath living surface, acres beneath the gentle breeze, accustomed to damp and dark associated with such steepness. Quiet sloshing, splashing upon restless feet create unique music filling the deafening silence. Small specks of reflected light beckon and taunt upon the water’s surface, winking up at deadened eyes defiantly. The cool temperature of the malicious liquid tickles toes and licks soles teasingly. Hands grapple and grasp blindly for support, anything real and warm to forfeit this awful sport. Roughened walls, grainy and tough in texture, claw back in anger at being awakened from their rock slumber. Redness wells up atop the surface of abandoned hands, welps and gashes ensue with more vigorous reaches, pure desperation to escape into a world of light, warmth, air, and life. Tears escape from barracaded vessals, leaking from tightened dams, overflowing every cavernous prison in existence as the pressure, the pain, the denial grows too strong. Hair disshelveled, matted, and ruined, insects clinging to the dirt clad strands, climbing each one as a ladder of sorts, reaching the tangled heap of curls above a sunken skull.
Shouts fill the void, shouts ricochete from enclave to enclave, from border to barrier. Shouts awaken animals dwelling deep within the rock, curled under their wings of death and talons of fury, resting for their time to slice into warm flesh and blood. Shouts echoing to and fro birth a new malicious sound, a cry from another world, a last breath noise sending chills down even the Devil’s spine. Animals encroach, Hell’s demons drawing nearer, their fangs glisten and drip in anticipation of a new wonderous savory temptation. Their eyes glint and gleam, reflecting the light shining back from the pool, teasing in more ways than one, recognizing the hope just above, just beyond hand or foot, and harnessing that as a weapon, mocking in those last heartfelt moments.
Surrounded by damp and dark, moonstruck gazing above, fervently wishing to be up there, even just a moment with fresh air. Animals snarling, growling near, soon they shall clean bones bare.
WAIT! There! Just a flash of wing, a hint of hope, a tip of the chin, and a wink of the eye. What thing would come at a time like this? Just leave this hair to the bugs, this flesh to the demons, and this soul to the Devil. Let me lie in this quarry until I am not more than dust, a silly reminder of all that could have been. Save your own tortured soul and let mine rot. But no, still the phantom draws nearer, and nearer, and nearer, almost as if floating down upon the moon’s rays, drifting down upon trasnparent cord, all the while brown orbs lock worn and tattered feet into the ground.
A hand, outstretched, solid and firm, reaching for bloodied tips against stained rock. Water sloshes louder as demons tip toe further in, waiting to pounce if I should take that hand. Still the hand awaits my ultimate choice, stay and rot in filth and bile, or rise above upon an Angel’s hand.
My hand never touched that Angel’s palm, so soft and gentle as a baby’s smile. But my heart pounced clean from my chest, nestled deep within her soul. Wings sprouted forth from my tender back, emitting loud shrieks of agony with joyful cries of glee. She taught me to fly, taught me to survive, she rescued me from those demons in Hell’s Well.
She rescued me from myself.