A song inspired by this short story I wrote for class (tw suffocation, claustrophobia, body horror, starvation, drugs, just a whole bunch of bad shit including literal shit ok):
Sullatulla
THEY entered the dead city. Bones of unburied corpses were tucked under eaves and dense pines, safe from the rain that had ground the others to nothing. The air was thick with ghosts: fragile things like strands of egg in soup, fraying at the edges, forgetting. The ghosts drifted towards them, drawn like bees to rotten fruit.
THEY picked THEIR way between the peeling skins of houses, over sidewalks broken apart by patient winters; concrete glaciers in a muddy sea. Color had long ago washed from the ruined buildings, but here and there some garish remnant caught THEIR eye: a doll, with wide glass eyes and plastic hair more enduring than the hand of the child still clutching it; a crock pot that must have simmered and simmered til the power lines went cold; a dog collar, sans dog.
More and more of the misty wraiths clung in a swirling sphere around THEM, crushing close, tasting THEIR warmth. Craving it.
Ignoring the fog of almost-touches, THEY shuffled forward, feet numb in shoes full of water, driven more by momentum than any desire to move. Clumps of red hair drooped in front of THEIR eyes, dripping rain. If THEY didn’t find shelter soon, hypothermia would finish THEM off; then THEY’d be as cold as everyone else here.
Then the ground beneath THEM was just gone. A hole. THEIR heart forgot to follow THEM as THEY dropped, pitch-black hole, dirt and water pouring in. Crumbled bits of concrete. The rain seemed still, and each droplet reflected one face, open-mouth shut-throat, too shocked to scream. After a terrible moment of hanging in air THEY struck the earth below.
Breath. Sight. Thought. All took a moment to return to THEM, and in that moment THEY were steadily buried in mud. With the kind of strength and fury that only comes from fear of death, THEY dug and struggled, hands sinking into the soft dirt, crawling from beneath the suffocating weight inch by inch. THEY heaved a rusty breath and choked on mud.
Finding a metal bar with their fingers, THEY pulled. The soil gave a little, then with a wet pop like suction releasing, THEY lurched forward into the darkness.
Even ghosts were afraid to enter this place.
Coiling back--no. Cautiously turning the parts that could turn, one vertebra at a ow fuck not that one, pretending not to hear that grinding sound, looked back. The shaft, up and up and oh god that’s too high. If THEY’d landed on solid ground. If THEY’d twisted their body the wrong way. If, but somehow, not. The light seemed to sprinkle down with the rain, a childish beam that feigned innocence badly. The edge, tracing a broken shard of grey sky, crumbled slowly--a threat of more to come.
No way up. Too dangerous to stay.
THEY shook, less from cold than from the absoluteness. Half a worm wiggled helplessly on THEIR leg, curling around itself as if searching for its missing half. Me too, friend. The shaking turned to rising, half-sobbing laughter as THEY flicked the worm off with one finger.
They moved carefully to avoid the jolts of pain. It took so long just to get a few feet of progress. A many-legged something skittered over THEIR hand as THEY traced the wall. Old sewage oozed by from somewhere; the smell brought up bile at first, but was eventually memorized, relegated to things known and ignored. At least it’s giving off some heat. No exits.
Hours yawned into days of feeling THEIR way through moldering funk, days that ran together like a slow river of ink. As THEIR injuries healed, further exploration became both easier and more frustrating. The network of tunnels was far more extensive than THEY had initially thought. Iron rungs leading upward were more rust than metal, and crumbled or snapped in THEIR hands.
THEY grew accustomed, familiar. There were three different systems here, comingling in a slapdash arrangement that spat in the eye of every code in the book. Cleaner water was carried in round arteries, lined with bricks and narrow pipe ends where runoff trickled in from above. Other tunnels, especially the deep ones, were of rough-hewn rock with rotting wood supports. The air of the mines tasted older, quieter, disturbed by every breath. By contrast, the sewers, woven around and through them, held the damp aromas of growth and decay.
Though warm enough now, and not lacking water, as time went on THEIR stomach twisted itself in empty, empty knots. THEY slipped into a haze, forgetting everything but the pain of hunger.
Senses sharpened to pinpoint every flutter of movement, and the category of “edible” quickly expanded. Beetles and spiders snatched up like popcorn, legs prickling THEIR lips. Strands of algae scraped from the walls. With rats THEY had little luck; the squeaks and paw-patterings were a constant, but the red-eyed rodents were quick and clever. Once, THEY snatched one up as it scurried over THEIR foot, and bit into it, heedless of hair or bone, with a hunger so urgent the creature was gone almost before it stopped twitching. Its blood left a trail through the layer of dirt on THEIR chin. THEY smiled for the first time since the fall, sank to the ground with a gasping sigh as if THEY’d been holding their breath, briefly content.
Time passed, and though THEY got better at catching rats, THEY were always, always hungry.
Time passed, and was meaningless in the dark. With no one to speak to, and a voice too burnt and hard to speak much anyway, THEY began to listen; THEY heard the quiet, lethargic rhythm of water, of strong, slow roots, of tiny creatures whose eyes, if they had eyes, had never seen daylight. As THEIR body grew thin, THEY felt that rhythm seep into THEIR marrow. THEY began to move like a wisp of fog, like something that had always been in this forgotten hole.
Searching for food at some point became more important than searching for a way out. Memories faded and became distant, irrelevant. Every so often THEY would spot THEIR reflection in the dim: cadaverous with thinning hair. Like a bog mummy. Every so often THEY would lose a tooth, and stare perplexed at its long, bloody root. THEY kept these teeth, afraid to lose any part of THEMSELF.
THEIR clothes rotted off THEIR body. THEY didn’t notice at first. Mud and shit look the same whether cloth or skin lies beneath it. But when THEIR shirt finally fell off, and disappeared into the water with a splash that cut through the silence, THEY were shocked for a moment…then gave a hoarse giggle as THEY realized what had happened. THEY waded into the stygian channel, and fished around blindly to retrieve the filthy rag, though without knowing what, if anything, it could be used for now. Knee-deep in waste, THEY refused to waste anything THEMSELF.
Slowly, THEY became aware of a change, too vague to discern at first, but as THEY moved down one of the tunnels, THEY realized it was light. Filtered down through a weathered grate, perhaps? An…exit?
THEIR heart pumped painfully, weak and unaccustomed to excitement. THEY clutched the shirt-rag tied over their shoulders with bony fingers, tilting THEIR head hugely, THEIR whole body following the motion in almost a caricature of curiosity. THEY continued twisting until THEY were lying on THEIR back staring at the light upside-down, just staring, sunken eyes not comprehending. Minutes passed, and the light was still there. THEY flipped THEMSELF over and crawled toward it, cautiously.
It was not an exit. The tunnel opened onto a deep reservoir of fresh water, with many sources trickling in from above. A bridge crossed the center of the cylindrical room, and the outer rim had a narrow walkway as well. This walkway was lined with strange growths, like termite mounds or lumps of white coral. The growths in turn supported hundreds upon hundreds of tiny green mushrooms--delicate parasols that glowed faintly. If THEY hadn’t been living in total darkness for so long, THEY would never have seen the whisper of light the mushrooms cradled.
Hunger, having laid a long siege against THEIR dignity and common sense and conquered both, easily overtook all other thoughts. THEY approached without hesitation and grabbed mushrooms by the fistful, stuffing them into THEIR mouth so fast THEY barely had time to swallow. THEIR stomach, unused to such a large and sudden meal, revolted and sent it back up again. THEY ate the vomit, which was mostly just water and mushroom anyway, and slowed down enough to keep it down. Barely.
This continued until, by chance, they sliced their hand on the ridges of the coral mounds. The cut felt strange, as if heat or cold spread from it but THEY couldn’t tell which--then time began to dilate. THEY collapsed on the walkway, spasming, eyes darting over the ceiling which seemed to fragment into sharp geometry, like broken shards of stained glass. After an unknowable stretch of time, the hallucinations faded, and THEY returned to themselves to find that THEIR stomach was empty again. THEY returned to the mushrooms, carefully this time so as not to touch the coral mounds. Static danced in THEIR peripheral vision still. And something more…
THEY froze, as for the first time since the fall, THEY were suddenly not alone.
