extract from "1/2"

There was no light, not even a natural luminescence so Imogen’s eyes could not focus on anything. It was like that time she had a professional beauty and spa day, supplied by a short term boyfriend who had to cut the spa resort short when his wife turned up for a treatment, and her eyes were cupped over during a tanning session; although Imogen really doubted this time it would end with a hunky man helping her off the table and giving her a chai-latte. There were no other stimuli  either temperature or sound and her senses cried through lack of use.

“Oh god, where am I?” she said out loud pleased to register the sounds bouncing around wherever she was.

“Here.”

“Who said that?” Imogen asked with a calmness that was almost as unsettling to her as the answering voice but she’d been sat here for a period of time and nothing had approached.

“I did.”

Ok, not a helpful answer but a logical one so whoever it was has reasoning even if they weren’t helpful, it conjured images of her teenage education as she and her clique would answer any teacher’s questions asked of them in a way that would cause most annoyance in an attempt to re-enact Miss Gardeneer’s ‘episode’ where her head thudded into the table spilling her cold mug of tea over her marking pile and she cried for a further three 50 minute classes before her sister came to take her home throwing insults at all the petty minded  

“Where is here?” she tried with an attempt to produce a more informative answer.

“Why don’t you turn on the lights and have a look?”

A string dangled brushing her fingertips and Imogen took hold of the thin strand and pulled, a spring pulled it back into place moments later and a faint click registered its operation was successful. A 15 watt energy saving lightbulb failed to illuminate more than her own head but she hoped it would raise its game not that there was much to look at. There were walls, they were thick and heavy but as real as the dust that falls from a fairy’s wing. Of the other speaker there was no sign.

“Where am I?”

“Here.”

“Enough with the bloody stupid answers already, do you know how infuriating it is to be answered in such a way?”

“Yes.”

Imogen screamed but it evaporated into the ether.

“Then ask a question you really want answered.” the voice said calmly and as irritating as an itch on the ear while wearing a motorcycle helmet and gloves. Imogen sat in silence under the dim glow thinking, not just thinking as she had done everyday with a hundred other things floating in the background like what to wear tomorrow, what to watch on TV tonight and what she was going to cook for dinner - or where to eat out; but now all those swirling thoughts that hung together like noodles in a pan of boiling water all fell into distinct lines in which they were diagnosed, processed and dispatched with effortless ease resulting in the long list of questions that first come to mind being dismissed as either self answerable or wholly inappropriate.

“Where do I need to go?” she asked clearly with the mind that here was safe, or as safe as can be squatting in the dark with a disembodied voice after being physically encouraged to enter a door drawn from chalk.

“Down the hole.” and as the words were said it was obvious, a tunnel like hole in the stone floor to one side of the radius from the light, was the only way to proceed.

“Where does it go?” Imogen asked peering over the lip of the tunnel and seeing it sloping ahead and down about as wide as her shoulders plus a little and as as tall as her back to her tummy plus a little bit, for which she was greatly appreciative over.

“From here to there.”

“A little more help would be….helpful.” she replied. The rock in the tunnel felt unusual. It wasn’t warm, cold, hard or rough, it was just there beneath her probing fingers as if sensation was now rationed.

“It goes to where you are headed, one way or another.”

“How long is it, I can’t see the end?” it was impossible to tell from here where the other end of the tunnel was, even a preliminary look with her head down the hole resulted in a slightly longer view of the tunnel.

“Twice as long as one end to the middle. The end will come or you can stay here.”

“What will happen to me if I stay here?”

“The end of your existence.”

The statement chilled her so she replied. “If I stay here I’ll die? Is there something here?”

“If you say anywhere you will expire.”

“So what you’re telling me is I have no choice, I can stay here doing sweet Fanny Adams or crawl down that tunnel and see where it goes. Is there any other options?”

The air was still and after a time with no further words forthcoming Imogen came to an unwelcome decision. She crawled to the edge of the tunnel and contemplated going feet first so, when (she knew enough not to hope for ‘if’) it all went wrong she could crawl forwards and out; but after she had got as far as her knees she knew it wasn’t going to work, Imogen retracted her feet and spun around. Wishing she had a very large drink inside her she slipped forward into the hole head first.

The tunnel was wider than she first thought but not as wide as she would have liked. The downward path aided her movements which wasn’t a crawl more of a toe push and palm pull affair but she knew she was making steady progress and relaxing into her activity. The light seemed to travel with her so she could see precious inches of her future ahead. The future held curves and rolling undulations which tightened into corners and humps. A large firmly set stone in the center made her glad she wasn’t a man as it squeezed her against the roof during her passing, it signified a change to the tunnel and the terrain changed in correlation to forward momentum. Imogen reached out with her arms as far as they could go, here she was pinched by her shoulders and had to wiggle her legs to get any traction, the dipping ceiling meant she could no longer hold her head up to see where she was going but now had to place it on the side to fit through.  The light now illuminated naught but the inches between her eyes and the cave wall barely enough space to move but enough to wiggle onward like a (insert something witty or intelligent here) but not enough to scratch her nose. Imogen wiggled her shoulders to try and gain purchase on the walls and edge her forwards which after effort of body and mind got her to where her feet could once again propel her onwards and the tunnel opened up to a pocket in which she could just about draw herself together to sit and take stock. She closed her eyes when the forward path presented itself. It was smaller by far than the route in, more squat and only half as tall as it was wide. It wasn’t wide.

“I can just go back.” Imogen said just to make the sounds more than state the options.

“Yes.”

“You’re still here? I thought you’d be left behind.”

“No.”

“So I could go back?” she asked believing it might be possible like the prospect of pudding after a huge meal in a familiar restaurant at someone else’s expense.   

“Yes.”

“And what would happen if I do?”

“You would be there and not here. You will not be where you want to be.”

“So I have to go, down there. It looks exceedingly tight, is it much further?”

“You have to go where you need to be. But you are unwilling?”

“It's so small, I can’t go through it. It's so small in here too I can’t stretch out, there’s no space.” Imogen felt acid burn her throat as she swallowed back whatever came up her pipes, she didn’t feel any additional substances decreasing her breathing space although, with her straight line thinking, her decreased mass with the introduction of a slick lubricant might be beneficial.

“Forward. You will go on.” the voice was starting to get to her, harder than any conscious and as helpful as any instructions that come packaged with any technology.

“Not yet. I can’t. Let me rest.” pleaded Imogen who did not relish the prospect of another restricted crawl.

“Not I, but forward you will go.”

It felt like the voice, wherever it was generated, had left; the cavern-bubble as small as a kitchen cupboard  did feel cooler and larger.

Water trickled at Imogen’s feet, only an insignificant amount at first glance and almost written off as unimportant in Imogen’s fleeting thoughts but the streamlined processing came up with a series of new points that needed consideration and started an internal debate fought by two equal sides. Where was the water coming from? The tunnel I’ve just been down. It’s only water and not that much, why worry? Because I’ve just been down there and it was completely dry. Have I dislodged something on my way through, will it get worse? When have I ever known something leaking ever get better? I could go back up the big tunnel and get out before anything happens. Yes I could but it’ll be going against the flow, uphill and through that passage with the squeeze. I could stay here, it's safe here, the water is starting to trickle down the other way. So the water is increasing, coming from a large tunnel into a small one, am I so innocent that I don’t realise that it would soon start filling up in here. What would happen if it does?

Both sides of the argument forged an understanding as their standpoints slipped away with the dawning of the new reality and they rose up in unison to press their desired action. Imogen twisted, using the larger tunnel to get her legs facing the same way as loose stones and sediment washed over them and she kicked forward into the way ahead and toe punted her way forward being pushed on all sides by the by the encompassing walls which protruded in on the megre space so Imogen had to turn her head and press her extended arms together just to fit. Her hips dug into the uneven sides as Imogen twisted and turned to get them through. She started to weep as the water soaked through her footwear reminding her that constant progress was required. Fingers that reached forwards and pulled inch by inch stopped as they touched a wall. Imogen could not see, her arms compressed across her face obscuring all. A frantic scratching confirmed a solid wall. Three rapid gasps began an attack of frustration and despair as the dampness reached her knees. She did not let the fear wash over her but she did try to maneuver herself backwards towards the tiny cavern but a pressure was building up preventing this. Water reached her lips and it tasted of metallic minerals, it was bitter. She pushed now, there had to be a way through, a tunnel wouldn’t just end, would it? But nothing even remotely resembling a workable route forward. Then a build up of pressure pushed her forwards, only a few small grains forward which sent her arms into the wall and up, where they continued bending at the elbows and crossing in the void where the tunnel rose actually offering a fragmented hope dashed by the impossible turn required.