Experiment 4: Exiting the Tunnel

Dense air in this cramped place—smelly tunnel—and I hop along train tracks. Yes, the joints of the bars of their monkey, monkey mayhem. No train yet. Thank heaven. My eyes are faulty in this lightless space. Feel my way through. Brick crevices. Sandy. A rock sneaks into my shoe. I can’t shake it out. I step on what feels like a weed. Flattens easy.

Do I use my torch? I need to keep charge. This isn’t an emergency. A train may come. Isn’t that an emergency? It hasn’t come yet. It could.

A cricket. Another cricket. Many crickets. They sound like a train, but they aren’t a train.

How long until I’m out? The air is heavy. My every breath feels draining and like it’ll be my last.

I switch on my torch. I can see the tunnel’s exit. It’s night. So many plants. Flowers like purple corndogs. Red spirals on curly stalks. Bushes. Trees. Purple sky. Golden grass.

The train tracks vibrate. An engine roars.

I dash into the bushes. A train rushes by.

I yank my shoe off to get rid of the annoying rock inside. Nothing is there. The moon isn’t in the sky, but the stars are.