seeing tunnel vision
|A week beginning getaway extended through the damp and musty abandoned tunnel. Hours of words shared, exchanged in planning, with tempers flaring from one section of invisible cells to the next was the least fascinating of his time within the secluded space. Juncture rail for former subway route was the focus that kept him from self sabotaging and surrendering himself to a force unseen. He fought his stance with another man who in similar fashion wouldn't be able to best him if with the energy he fed and conserved with food, water, and rest was afforded to him. Hyper-sensitivities to the surroundings would remain with him from days to come. Not because of the growing stench of unbathed people or the verbal gymnastics done to throw off the other sounds muffled within the capsule area, but having offspring, of both legacy and this reality, sit in the front row to madness. His madness, their madness soon to unfold and there was nothing more he could do to stop it. |
Years of dusting off the trail left behind came from under the earth. Debris obscured view, causing the sandstorm to blind or part from winds to see the curtain pulled for what it was. His hardest time in the bind was knowing words to steer one kid on course would go on deaf ears. Their disappointment slowly filled his space. Echoes of hate snapped to words of contempt while burrowing deep within the conscience. Guilt wouldn't fool him into believing that getting free was futile but having forgiveness, let alone being spoken to was off of the table. He wouldn't plead. Fall to his knees and beg to be heard. There was no explaining his side for a block of ears to listen in on. Voices traveled between people but they couldn't reach one another or hadn't until that morning. Waiting in filth wasn't a change to humble him.
Discovering that his stint ended feeling invincible did. He was human and had human emotions but logic and conditioning said to wait. They told him to hold it together and be an example. To whom was in the air as being ignored by the only two people he cared about in the tunnel seemed to matter. Just kids, along with a few others, adults in experience with both life and shifts, had to devise a way to exit. He felt it went on longer than it should. As it did, patience waned for a few, or caused elusiveness long enough to keep with the joneses. He needed refuge from thoughts. The little voices that scratched and pried on unseen weaknesses needed to be buried deeply before they too surfaced and caused the stay to be more unbearable than he was able to let on.
His cravings for addictive items increased the longer captivity would loom over. Running through a pack of cigarettes was ideal to think, gave away his steadiness not to bend. Folding over happened more from the phantom blows of force no one could see, not even himself. He tried to counter the repercussions of avoiding a fight, to give into hesitancy. The more he did, to find the seconds of assessing it took to figure out his cellmate's moves, in the air he was rushed and against the tunnel's wall. He wasn't solo in this game or the torture to commence with all involved. During the down times, where being left alone allowed to follow faint sounds above or through the thick space of the walls, he contemplated his mood's implosion. Who would pay for it first. Would he unleash on the one who was worried deathly of his disappearance because it hadn't been the first time?
What wasn't a projection of certainty or adjusting to what is real or not drove him deeper in those recessive negative space. If getting out alive wasn't optional, would his seeds hate him more than they had at current? Would the lot of them, all who may or may not possess something innately special about them, turn on one another as the ultimate chess move to scrape for answers none seem to have? He wasn't sure but never stopped to dismiss those wonderments that could be the possible outcome. If it meant being the last person standing, fighting to death, sacrifices that karma presented him with in those quiet moments of staged meditation, darkened his days to come.
Nathan spared details upon his release. He waved off help. Fumed internally and was charged up ever than before. He needed to be home where the extracted weren't his problem anymore but the kids he failed somehow again were. If he had the chance to right mistakes, his way of doing it now wasn't working. Made to watch them stuck in their own horror was how he knew that there wasn't a stone heart or being devoid of any compassion. Indifference was unavailable where he wished it was. It would protect him from anguish relived and the unsettling rumble that would not disappear from the knot in his stomach. It remained as it was placed to shape all parts of him to the physical and emotional brunt his body normally took. If pain was the denominator of suffering, especially that of others, he felt it.
Each shuffle his feet made. Each breath taken. Each blink spared to look around longer, all harbored the cloak of unforgivable happenings that left them as victims. It could have been worse. The dueling of others lifted to rise a stake higher and had he known, been better with watching his back, a little faster than normal, all would be avoided. He stood in the temple of his home, looking over the hands marked by bruises and cuts. Healing went on its own but not that of the unrest boiling inside. Where joy was going to be his normal, and optimism would be a new study to better days, the possibilities were sucked right from him and what was worked for.
Reminders presented themselves when eyes closed. He seen fright at its hostile form, reflecting from the stain glass of the one he treasured. It was going to be another fight. Another round of being patient with him where he lost all patience for grappling with being trifled with.