I wrote this as a timed exercise, the key word being - as you've probably already guessed - TUNNEL. Most of what I attempt to write is aimed at 4-6-year-olds so this is a bit of an experimental departure for me. I'd welcome any comments. Thank you.
THE TUNNEL
They didn’t get it. They just didn’t get it! And they never would. Wrapped up in themselves so tightly, brains swaddled in self-admiration, egos bandaged in id, feeding on power, insecurity demanding constant reassurance. What hope was there for me, stuck in the middle, brunt of every joke, prime target for mockery? Tell someone, the ads said. Talk to someone … phone this number … we can help!
Yeah! Sure you can! If Steven Seagal happens to be around, maybe, or that other guy, the French one. Christ! What’s his name? What’s his name? What’s his name? Have to remember his name. Have to! Have to! Think, dammit, think.
Thinking ……. takes my mind off it, you see. Thinking of names like that French karate-hero-guy. Is he French, even? Maybe he’s not French. Foreign name, though. Foreign name.
I wipe some sweat from my brow, forgetting my hands are smeared in dirt and grime from the tunnel floor. The grit sticks to my head and falls into my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I grip a corner of my tee-shirt in panic and hope it’s at least a bit clean, just enough to clear the dirt from my face. Please, I pray. I have to be able to see the light. That light up there.
I sob involuntarily and thank Christ there’s nobody around to hear. That, at least, is something. I take a deep breath and try and pull myself together. I have to come out sometime and the sooner the better. I’m secretly panicking that some smart-arse will come down and close the door, shutting out the light. I’ll never be able to find another door. I know that. What’s worse is that part of me is thinking that perhaps I won’t want to.
I can’t let that happen. I’m sure they thought it was fun. Yeah, that’s it! It was just fun, wasn’t it? Losing me in the underground tunnels, running away, snatching my torch? It was just fun. Like when they threatened my little brother last week. Said they’d land him in hospital. That was just joking, too, wasn’t it? Or slipping Rohipnol into my sister’s drinks at the disco? Just kidding, right? They wouldn’t have done it. Yeah, they were just kidding around. But I did what they asked anyway. I mean, that was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?
The tears have got to go. I straighten myself up to standing, sore from bumping into walls and tripping over whatever it was I’d been tripping over in my panic and haste to follow their fading voices, to get out of this tunnel, get out of the darkness. I hate the dark. Dark holds only bad stuff. I’ve never had dreams, you know? Only nightmares. Nightmares and night terrors. I don’t do dark, OK? I have my parents to thank for that.
But these guys. They don’t know about me and the dark. So it’s just fun, isn’t it? Mustn’t let them see me crying. Jeez! What’d they think if they saw me crying? I mean, what’d they do to me then? No! I’ve gotta come out laughing. Laughing and joking. With the boys. Yeah! That’s me. Just one of the boys, eh?
Maybe I’ll just get cleaned up a bit first, before Teach notices I’m missing from the group. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not at dinner with the rest. Shit! It’s bright! Good to leave that tunnel behind though. I suppose? Is it? Strange! It’s bright out here but …………. I still feel I’m in the tunnel. I’m still in a tunnel. Why is that?
Tell someone ……… talk to someone ……. phone this number …………
