Fiction: Return to the Pit of Death
It takes less than a second for the ground to fall away beneath my feet. I manage to grab onto something - a branch or worn rope it would seem - but it’s too weak to hold my weight and I can already feel it starting to give. I don’t dare look down, but there’s no need to. I can hear them waking from their slumber, hissing, rattling and slithering closer all the time.
I panic, of course. Kicking at the ground against me, trying to find a foothold, but it only gets them riled and puts too much strain on the rope. The ground crumbles away as I kick at it, hitting some of them and making them even angrier.
The first one wraps itself around my ankle. It’s strong, almost squeezing the life out of my leg. My foot is numb and at first I think I’ve been bitten. Then it bites me for real and I wonder how I could have forgotten this sensation and all its searing pain.
And that’s just the first one. I give in to curiosity and look down to see them swarming upwards. They seem to be working as one, supporting each other in their push forward, but that’s impossible, isn’t it? They don’t co-operate. They all want the kill for themselves.
The bites come thick and fast. One takes a chunk of flesh out of my calf. I try to swallow down the fear and tell myself it’s all in my head. If I stay calm, I can minimise the damage. The familiar taste of metal fills my mouth and the stinging sensation now covers all of my legs. I can no longer kick them away, all I can hope for is to wait them out and hope I survive.
Glimpsing down proves to be a mistake. My eyes are hit with venom and I’m blinded almost immediately. At first it seems a blessing, but despite the severity of the situation, my imagination is still able to conjure up worst images than anything going on below me.
One of them wraps itself around my waist and I thank God that I know it will now be a quick, if painful, death. I feel liquid coating my upper body and realise I’m bleeding everywhere. From my mouth, my nose, all the old wounds on my arms which seemed to be healed a long time ago…
I don’t remember when I let go of the rope, but they’ve pulled me right down into the darkness now. It would seem they’re no longer of a mind to work together - they’re hissing, lunging at each other, each staking their own claim to my flesh. They’re welcome to it. All I want now is the end. My strained attempts at breathing appear to be coming to an end. I feel the air rush out of my lungs as the snake wraps itself around tighter.
“Emma?”
I look up at the Deputy Director. She’s looking at me with a concerned expression, as if she’s worried I haven’t understood. I’m suddenly aware that my shirt sleeves have been pushed back to reveal my scars. I pull them down self-consciously.
“Will you be able to hand everything over in a week?”
I nod, try to appear nonchalant. “No problem.”
“It’s just a shame it’s come to this,” she offers, without looking me in the eyes.
I nod. “Don’t worry about it.”
We leave the boardroom and I go back to my desk and start thinking about the best way to hand my workload over to Andrew. My mind keeps drifting.
This isn’t how stories go. The heroine doesn’t climb out of one snake pit and fall straight into another.
I put it out of my mind and concentrate on making people feel awkward by handing over as efficiently as possibly.
As I leave the office later that afternoon, I hear them hissing at my heels.
END
(c. Me)
I panic, of course. Kicking at the ground against me, trying to find a foothold, but it only gets them riled and puts too much strain on the rope. The ground crumbles away as I kick at it, hitting some of them and making them even angrier.
The first one wraps itself around my ankle. It’s strong, almost squeezing the life out of my leg. My foot is numb and at first I think I’ve been bitten. Then it bites me for real and I wonder how I could have forgotten this sensation and all its searing pain.
And that’s just the first one. I give in to curiosity and look down to see them swarming upwards. They seem to be working as one, supporting each other in their push forward, but that’s impossible, isn’t it? They don’t co-operate. They all want the kill for themselves.
The bites come thick and fast. One takes a chunk of flesh out of my calf. I try to swallow down the fear and tell myself it’s all in my head. If I stay calm, I can minimise the damage. The familiar taste of metal fills my mouth and the stinging sensation now covers all of my legs. I can no longer kick them away, all I can hope for is to wait them out and hope I survive.
Glimpsing down proves to be a mistake. My eyes are hit with venom and I’m blinded almost immediately. At first it seems a blessing, but despite the severity of the situation, my imagination is still able to conjure up worst images than anything going on below me.
One of them wraps itself around my waist and I thank God that I know it will now be a quick, if painful, death. I feel liquid coating my upper body and realise I’m bleeding everywhere. From my mouth, my nose, all the old wounds on my arms which seemed to be healed a long time ago…
I don’t remember when I let go of the rope, but they’ve pulled me right down into the darkness now. It would seem they’re no longer of a mind to work together - they’re hissing, lunging at each other, each staking their own claim to my flesh. They’re welcome to it. All I want now is the end. My strained attempts at breathing appear to be coming to an end. I feel the air rush out of my lungs as the snake wraps itself around tighter.
“Emma?”
I look up at the Deputy Director. She’s looking at me with a concerned expression, as if she’s worried I haven’t understood. I’m suddenly aware that my shirt sleeves have been pushed back to reveal my scars. I pull them down self-consciously.
“Will you be able to hand everything over in a week?”
I nod, try to appear nonchalant. “No problem.”
“It’s just a shame it’s come to this,” she offers, without looking me in the eyes.
I nod. “Don’t worry about it.”
We leave the boardroom and I go back to my desk and start thinking about the best way to hand my workload over to Andrew. My mind keeps drifting.
This isn’t how stories go. The heroine doesn’t climb out of one snake pit and fall straight into another.
I put it out of my mind and concentrate on making people feel awkward by handing over as efficiently as possibly.
As I leave the office later that afternoon, I hear them hissing at my heels.
END
(c. Me)