Üksi - Hole (6)

Part 6 of a story told exclusively via internet forums (the future of storytelling, I’m told).

Previous installments: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

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It takes a lot of effort to think.

I was always more “smart aleck” than “smart,” but now thoughts come haltingly and only with the utmost concentration. Apparently that’s part of the deal now. Jacob has helped acclimate me to…whatever this is.

There are dozens of us holed up inside what was once some kind of oil tanker (I’m guessing from the overwhelming smell) with a hatch in the roof, well out of reach. No one’s opened it in weeks. My eyes finally stopped burning when they went dark for the last time. Since then it’s been a lot of stumbling in the shadows, bumping into bodies and walls, and learning to navigate without eyesight.

I’m getting better.

In place of eyesight there’s a…different sense. I don’t know how to describe it. I can almost feel the air moving around things, flowing through the room, even one as stagnant as this. It helps me locate myself in space and with my much better hearing, it’s easy to get a snapshot of what’s going on around me at any moment.

Walking is much harder.

My muscles have completely atrophied. Getting them in motion is like pushing a stalled car uphill. It’s almost impossible to build up any momentum. As far as inertia, I’m inert. Luckily those locked leg muscles make it easier to stand still for hours at a time, wondering about my next move.

Have you ever caught yourself staring off into space, vaguely focused on something in the distance but mainly using it as a backdrop for whatever your brain was processing in the moment? My mind is eternally locked in that fight, teetering just on the edge of consciousness and awareness.

The only thing that brings it into focus is the smell of meat.

Living meat, specifically, which we don’t seem to have in any supply. But when a rat somehow found its way inside our tanker, it was like pure, unfiltered focus slammed into my brain. My jaw clacked over and over, I couldn’t control it. The rat didn’t last long enough for me to even reach it before the group had torn it apart. A few minutes later it was back to fighting through the haze of thought.

I don’t understand what has happened to me. To all of us. I know we’re locked away because we’re dangerous. But we’re going crazy in here. You can smell it on those who’ve been here longer. Their scent is dry and dusty, not like fresh meat. They have a harder time thinking. They can barely grunt to communicate. And they’re obsessed with killing anything alive.

Maybe that’s what we’re all doomed to become. Or maybe we’re simply going mad from being entombed here. I’m not sure how, but we need to get out of here in a way that won’t hurt the people outside.