Note: I dug up this one on a whim. Turned out that I had one more drabble to write, during these last, shivering hours of the year. It's unbetad, as the parts before it. If you want to read those- which probably helps this make sense- just follow the tunnel-tag.

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( The Everlasting Night. )

The soft sounds of the pebble scraping against the wall echoes in the tunnel. I've figured out how to hold the pebble between my palms. I am writing my requiem. There are marks here already, I can feel them when I rub my face against the wall. I can't read them. But I try to remember them anyway. Someone has to remember them; the last screams, the ( Read more... )

It's so quiet. The sounds that filter through my foggy mind I cannot recognise. I don't know where they come from. If it's me making them or someone, something, else. Before, I read about tunnels, caves. The books said you could feel the faint draft of air even at the deepest levels. Here it is still. I've been waiting for that wisp of moving air ( Read more... )

It’s cold. Colder than I thought. It’s been days, eons, since I last could move my fingers like I used to. They are numb, like the rest of me. There are marks on the walls down here, I try desperately to trace them but my fingers are too cold. Maybe it’s because I’ve scraped them bloody already, that I can’t feel much ( Read more... )

It's almost dawn. My last dawn. The clouds are sprinkled pink from the slowly rising sun. I'm going underground today. It's a maze down there. Long tunnels, no lights but the pale white from the  lantern I'm allowed to bring. They say it's cold down there. Cold, and easy to get lost. The ones that made it back the last time, said that there are ( Read more... )