86 - Descent


You swing the pickaxe down as you have been for the past three weeks, finding purchase in the wall of hard earth in front of you. Pulling free, you take a large swathe of dirt from the wall, which falls onto your bare feet. The dirt they add to your pale skin is indiscernible – you ditched your shoes two days prior; they were slowing you down.

You feel it again – the pull of the power behind the earth. You drop the pick axe and press your palms against the dirt façade in front of you. It calls to you, tugging on your very being. You dig your fingertips into the soil and lay your cheek against the wall in between your hands.

The power is warm, and behind the silent call there is a promise: one of fulfillment of every wish you could imagine. More than that, it promises to make you whole.

“I’m coming,” you say. “I need more time. Just wait a little longer.” You feel a snap inside your mouth with you hit the ‘j’. You reach inside and pull the latest casualty of your zealotry from your mouth – looks like a canine. You discard the dead tooth over your shoulder; your old self isn’t important, the power will make you anew.

Eventually, your pickaxe breaks and you begin to dig with your hands. You don’t even look back anymore. The power behind the earth is everything. Pieces of you fall; you leave them behind. The call is too strong to linger on the old flesh. You dig on, sloping slowly downward, and the earth is beginning to take on the slightest tinge of red.