Four

Like someone popping the cork on a bottle of champagne New Year’s eve, the light came back. He didn’t bother to check on his holes anymore, he knew now that they would always be gone when he woke up. No longer did he care if he would ever make it out of this place. Since the razor episode there hadn’t been any more outbursts; he had taken comfort in the repetition. How many times have I gone through this? There was no way to count. Every time, some things were different; the tools, the material of the walls, the location of the hole, but one thing was always the same: Dig. Once it was a hammer and chisel chipping through solid white ice. Another time it was a shovel and a thick, gelatinous paste. After a while the size of the space began to change too. Sometimes it was so big he never found the letters, other times it was cramped and claustrophobic. The worst was when it was small. He remembered when the room was so small, small as a coffin, that he couldn’t even move his arms. All he could do was to stare up at those red letters, unable to move, waiting for the darkness.
Currently he had a white plastic bucket and was on his way across the space, which he estimated was the size of a football field this time, to the letters. When he arrived he put his hand out to feel them, a habit he had followed since the incident with the pick ax. The wall felt warm and gritty. Without hesitation he struck the lip of the bucket into the side of the g. A small piece of the wall fractured and thousands of grains of what looked like sand began pouring out the crack. Sand eh? Maybe I’ll build a castle. The crack that his bucket had produced began to expand, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed. Like a pane of glass shattering in slow motion, cracks shot off in all directions, white sand issuing from the fissures at an alarming rate. Oh shit. Cave in. He spun on his heels and ran away from the approaching disaster at top speed, but before he could get far the wall exploded outward, releasing a tsunami of sand that quickly began to fill the space with a roaring hiss. He tried to keep running but the sand had already caught up with him, covering his feet and causing him to fall face first to the ground. The sand washed over him like waves on a beach. He struggled desperately to stay on top of each surge but his resistance was futile, the sand was unrelenting. He stretched his hand out, hoping to grab hold of something he knew wasn’t there. This was it, the sand now poured over his head, filling his ears and nose. He tried to hold his breath but accidentally sucked in a mouthful of the bone white grains. The deafening rush of the sand was now inaudible, blocked out by the mass that had buried him alive. Silence. Pure silence. It was almost comforting, like being surrounded in a warm, soft blanket. He welcomed the quiet and embraced the darkness, letting his eyes shut one last time. Then he saw it. He wasn’t sure how, given the lack of light underneath the pile of sand and the fact that his eyes were closed, but he still saw it. Dig. Yes, that’s it. That is what I am supposed to do, I get it now. I dig. I have always and will always dig. That is what I do. Fingers clawed through the sand involuntarily. Desperate for a breath of air and amazed he had made it this long, his hands slowly worked through the sand. But it wasn’t enough. His lungs screamed for oxygen, his blood boiled. This is it, the big sleep. His hands ceased their desperate efforts, his heart came to a stop. His final breath left his lungs and slowly snaked it’s way through the gaps between grains to the surface.

Like a shock of static electricity the light jolted his eyes open. I’m alive? He glanced around at the all too familiar surroundings. He was still in the space, still breathing, still alive. He stared deep into the white abyss searching for what he knew he would find. I’ll find you, sooner or later, I’ll find you. As he started his search he recited what would be his new mantra: “I dig. This is what I do. This is what I have and will always do. I dig.”