bunker
When darkness comes, all is quiet. The moon is out and the bunker is locked, sealed tightly under smooth cement. Coldness arrives quickly, sharp nips at the skin as breath condenses, heavy and frigid. Fingernails trace the walls that cave in. The blind lead the blind, down staircases of twisted vine and shattered pottery, wet moss and brick. Steps are tentative, felt around to avoid shards on bare heels. Then comes the smell of grass, an overwhelming aroma that gives headaches and blocks the lungs. It's almost over.
locked up
We're tasked to observe it sometimes: the creature clawing up the inside of the metal walls. It scratches and scratches, leaving marks littered all over the enclosure-- tallies of the thousands of times its tried to escape. Its eyes are bloodshot and it stares right at me, but I look away, back towards the engraved walls. The patterns from its claws are decorated with blood, leaving messages we observe everyday but never understand. As the creature begins to scratch again, we hold our hands over our ears, the vile shriek of metal reverberating throughout the laboratory. I glance back at the creature. The tips of its fingers are bloody again.
And there's a fire in its eyes that I can't understand-- a flame that's strangely human. It tells me that even if an eternity passes, and even if its nails never grow back, it will still be scratching at these walls.
If you were to drown, I think I'd laugh. Maybe I'd hold your head down in the water, making sure the chemicals do their trick; that the only time you ever rise back up is when you're an empty corpse filled with pool water, fished out from the deep end of the pool by one of those minimum-wage pool boys you love to mess around with.
You have a fiery personality. People like that about you, but I don't. I don't think it's funny to light a match in front of someone's face, fully knowing that they almost died in a fire when they were young. I don't think it's cute to lead a guy on for years. If you were to drown, I'd like to watch you sink into the water, watch the clear, chlorine water fill your lungs and extinguish the flame inside you. Maybe that'd shut you up.
You always roll your eyes at me. Never anyone else, just me. Why? Don't go on ignoring me again. I can't wait to see your eyes close one last time, a prolongued blink for the rest of eternity. Or maybe your eyes'll stay open, staring at me from under the water as I watch your eyes roll back into your purple head.
Of course, this is all hypothetical. I'd be absolutely miserable if people thought I would let you drown on my watch!
But maybe, if you stop floundering about for one second and shut up, I could make it look like an accident.