Cave Light

Darkness drips like a downspout in March. I’m unable to tell if my apathy is still apathy or if I’ve moved on to something worse. The days continue to shorten as though winter solstice has yet to arrive. I feel along stone ledges for a lightswitch I left in some drywall, but I have little luck. It gets more challenging by the minute and my dark eyes struggle to adjust. But like I said, it’s tough to catch me bothered, and I continue along the wall. My hand finds yours.

I jump backwards, shocked at the warmth of another body nearby. There are several moments that we stay this way, too nervous to move or speak. Hadn’t I been alone before? Who let you in?

The echo of dripping water somewhere in the distance reminds me of cartoon stalagmites and stalactites. What was that from anyway? The Magic School Bus, perhaps? I ponder this for a while. The sharp pain in my bare feet, however, serve as a reminder that this is all too real. I step tentatively back in the direction of the ledge, hands out in front of me for what little protection they can offer. I will find the light if it’s all I ever do.

I shuffle back to the wall and begin to move forward again when I’m stopped dead in my tracks by a booming voice whispering in my ear. “I knew you’d find a way.”

I cock my head slightly, as if you can read my expressions in the pitch black cave, and give it a moment for the recognition to kick in. Finally, it hits me.

“You’re alive,” I gasp, voice laced with awe and confusion and horror.

You say nothing in response, but instead take my hand once more and lead me into even deeper darks.


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