Track Star (Part 1)

Enveloped in darkness, one hand grips my bike while the other trails along the rough dirt wall as I inch my way down the tunnel. Sometimes I’m startled by what I assume are bugs or critters, but the endless darkness makes it impossible to tell. The air smells musty and feels stale. My whole world is eerily quiet—filled only with the clinking of bike chains and my own echoing footsteps.

I walk for as long as possible, hoping and praying I won’t have to sleep in this tunnel. I couldn’t tell when night fell, but it must’ve been hours ago. Somehow, not being able to see the night sky is making it easier to stay awake—well, either that or the adrenaline from death being at my door just a bit earlier. Even though I’m trapped in the dark, without the night sky I can at least pretend it’s daytime. Reminds me of one time when I was a youngin.

I was playing outside, and, for no particular reason, I decided to stay up the entire night. I went to the ruins of our half-town to hang out in a small room mostly hidden by rubble. With no windows and no way to see the sky, I imagined that it was daytime, and that it always would be. It felt safe—my own little space.

I wish it felt the same now.

I can’t have my own space anymore. I thought I had something, but The Soulless took it from me.

After nobody knows how long, I see a tiny sliver of light down the tunnel. It ain’t a lot, but it puts some pep in my step. When I get there, I find it’s no more than a thin crack in the dirt, but looking at it still feels like staring straight at a light bulb. Once my eyes adapt, I begin to study the crack. It seems that the dirt between the ground above and this tunnel is quite thin and pretty dry.

Trey said this tunnel could fall apart on me, so let’s fast track it.

I get to work, taking out my bike wrench and digging at the walls. It takes forever, but eventually I have enough dirt to make a small pile just tall enough for me to reach the roof if I stand on it and jump. I jump up and down, each time breaking off a little more dirt with my wrench. Dirt falls all over me and sticks to my sweat covered body. I feel so gross.

I’m tired as hell, more than ready for some rest. But, being so close, I decide to keep working. Once the crack grows into a gap barely large enough for my next step, I repack all the new dirt to get a slightly larger pile and grab my bike. I flip it over, grab the handle bars, and throw my bike up. The first time I just hit the roof with the back wheel, making it bounce back down to the ground. Hopefully I don’t break it. I try again, this time with a bit less strength. The back wheel makes it into the gap, but, without enough power, the bike falls again. At least I know it fits now. I go at it one more time, putting my full strength behind it. The back wheel swings up into the gap, and as soon it reaches past the dirt, I twist the bike as hard as I can.

I take a step back, catching my breath and admiring my work. My bike hangs above me, stuck in the gap with half hanging down and half sitting above ground. I’m sure if anyone were to walk by they’d be extremely confused by the wheel growing from the ground.

Alright, back to work. I crouch—tensing up, hoping this won’t be too painful—and jump. I grab as high on my bike as I can and hang.

And I keep hanging.

Weird. I thought this would make the dirt break under my weight. Maybe I should rethink my—

Crack.

Thud.

“Owwww. Ahhhhh. Jeez, dude. What the hell.” That hurt so much.

I cough, dirt escaping my mouth. I try to lift my right arm to wipe the dirt from my eyes, but feel a sharp pain run up my shoulder.

“AHHHH!” What the hell! My shoulder is most definitely not supposed to feel like that.

I wipe my eyes with my other arm. Above me is the open sky—and freedom. My body floods with relief, the feeling of accomplishment relaxing me a little.

Though I wish it didn’t.

I get dizzy, the pain in my shoulder increasing and the exhaustion catching up to me. I fight it, trying to get up, but the adrenaline is gone and the bike and dirt covering me feel heavy. Even though the surface is just in reach, all I can do is lay here. I told myself I wouldn’t sleep in this damned tunnel, but I guess I can’t even do that.

It ain’t the most comfortable, but sleeping on a bed of nails would feel heavenly at this point—I pass out.