Tunnel of Nascency
A friend of yours asked if you’d be interested in crawling through a tunnel that slopes into the earth’s core. Its entrance has the circumference of a hockey rink, and its artery spirals and narrows the deeper you go.
“It’s too hot down there,” you say. “It will melt us into two puddles of liquid ore.”
“Exactly,” your friend says. “A transfiguration that will shed our metallic skins and free the organic meat within.”
“I’m not sure I want to be free,” you say. But the curious seed has been planted. The world brightens. The sun’s radiation polishes your metallic exoskeleton. You want to feel it.
You dip your legs into the tunnel’s mouth. Its breath is cold, but you’ve spent years above ground, absorbing the heat.
As you descend the narrowing tunnel, your friend comes closer. Rust leaks from his jaundice eyes.
“There’s not enough light,” he says. “I’m afraid if I blink, the enshrouding darkness will never leave.”
“You must blink and move your eyes or else they’ll dry like cement,” you say.
“And my limbs, they’ve become rigid and cold.”
“Mine too.” Near the earth’s surface, the mouth of the tunnel has shrunk to the size of a pinhole. “How long have we’ve been traveling?”
“By my calculation, one more step will mark the point of no return.” Your friend’s wide eyes have become petrified with rust. “But if we turnabout now, we’ll reach the surface upon taking our last breath.”
“What about the transfiguration?”
“I was wrong.”
You shake your head. The joints in your neck whine like a corroded car door. “It’s not much farther.”
“I can’t.”
“What we need is down there!” You step forward. Your friend steps back. Stooped, one leg dragging, he treks upward.
You continue down.
Your bones have become icicles. The walls condense around you. The flavor of grass and growth skip across your taste buds as your tongue liquifies into a zesty syrup.
The melting has…
The Breakout
Fam’s brother, Tizzy, could never let something go untouched.
“A mistake,” Fam suggested of the keycard that had been left on the table in their cell.
Tizzy eyed the camera high in the corner. “A trap.”
“Or a test against our reformation.”
“We won’t know the reasoning unless we act,” Tizzy said.
“Or let the reasoning surface with time,” Fam said.
Tizzy picked up the keycard and turned it from side to side, flipped it over and twisted it back, spreading fingerprints and evidence with each rotation.
“Now you have to use it,” Fam said. “They’re going to punish you, whether you do or don’t.”
Tizzy’s broad eyes flickered to the camera. His chest puffed and shrank with quickening breaths. “Swipe it with me. That way we’ll split the punishment.”
“No way.” Fam backpedaled.
Tizzy offered the keycard. “Touch it.”
“No. Get away from me.” The concrete wall slapped Fam’s back and held him there. “I’m serious.” He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’m not touching it.”
Tizzy reached for Fam’s throat, yanked open the collar, and dropped in the keycard.”
“Take it out,” Fam pleaded.
“Nope.”
Having no choice, Fam fished in his overalls and plucked out the keycard. Now you have to use it…
He swiped. The door buzzed, but it didn’t open.
“Guess it was a mistake,” Tizzy said. “Oh well, now we know.”
“Yeah, and so do they.” Fam gave the camera a quick glance before returning the keycard to the table.
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