There is no light as you wake up in a forced fetal position. Your head is covered in something of pure blackness and you feel the warmth of your breath on your face until it inevitably fades away. You feel flimsy metal beneath your bound body, and though you writhe and scream, your chains give no freedom, your voice finds no sympathy, and the metal floor relinquishes no hint of its boundaries. Your breath hastens in your effort and pitch-black cloth sticks against your face.
In between your unsettled exhales, there is silence. There are no sounds but those of breath, cotton, metal, and chain. You pause. You freeze your body in an attempt to find some sense of surrounding, but all you find is desolation. In the void you find fear. It becomes your consuming reality, one that slowly hardens around your frail exterior and seeps into your skin.
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A few minutes pass until you hear the sound of metal screech into the nihility like a hawk announcing its hunger to its prey. You feel fear like a poison now, but this new sound gives occupancy to hope. This new sound means that there is someone else here, that you are not alone, that there are boundaries to your confinement. This new sound casts a savior into your desolation. You feel the progress of heavy footsteps as the flimsy metal wobbles and warps around your frame. As the footsteps stop, all hope is extinguished.
Large, rough hands snatch you off the floor. You are not dragged; it feels more like floating. The owner of these hands is strong, and you float through darkness like a boat over still water.
“Charon. Tartarus.”
You feel ice-cold wind stab into the whole of your being. The cotton hood that once sold you darkness flies into the current and you see rock walls blur in your wake. As you fall, you bend your head and one look down shows you a vast, black lake illuminated by a single torch. An instant of pure existence overcomes you. You feel death’s approach. You feel fear. You feel the inescapable shackles on your wrists and legs. But you also feel euphoria. You feel life’s joy and the ecstasy of being. You remember love and passion. You remember a campfire in Western Washington. You remember –
The black water shatters your soul into a thousands fragmented thoughts and contorted identities. You are whole and you still feel your chains as they plunge you farther and farther into the abyss, but you no longer remember. You are whole but you feel nothing like a human being. You hopelessly writhe against the merciless lake, but there is no stopping death’s persistence. You feel its omnipresence. You feel its pressure. You feel your warm breath exit your lips into its grip. You call for forgiveness. You plead for mercy. You sink deeper and deeper.
You feel a final breath move from your trembling lungs into your throat. You see death’s long, slender hand beckon the air out of your small chasm, your small space in the universe. You sink deeper. There is no light around you. You feel no cold. You see nothing but black. There is no sound in this space. Time is an illusion in the desolation of death. Water fills your lungs. You heave. You weep. You die.
There is no light as you wake up in a forced fetal position. Your head is covered in something of pure blackness and you feel the warmth of your breath on your face until it inevitably fades away. You feel flimsy metal beneath your bound body.
