Neon Colors

It was a simple order, walk to the end of the tunnel. Such a simple order, that he'd never complete.

The tunnel extended on for miles in front of him, the ending nowhere in sight. The walls were lit up from behind, like some sort of neon jungle. It was a rainbow of colors, all blurring together as the light half blinded him. He wanted to turn back, go back to the beginning and tell them that he gave up, that he was tired of walking. But he’d been in here for two days and running to them wasn’t an option anymore. He would have to press on, and maybe somewhere he would find an exit.

            He was told to simply keep going forward, leaving a trail of wire behind him so they would be able to measure the distance of the tunnel. From the outside it had seemed simple. A tunnel no more than two miles long that he could tackle in less than an hour. He’d never been more wrong in his entire life.

            The task had been left to him because he was D-class personal. He had never been told what that meant, but over time he realized it meant disposable. D-class were those that would be given the most dangerous tasks, because if they died no one would care. They didn’t have families to worry for them, no friends to speak at their funerals. They were just people, alone and useless expect to run these tests.

            He sat down on the floor of the tunnel, digging through the bag he’d been given. There was enough food to last him three more days, six if he only ate what he really needed to. He had been given a heavy black hoodie if it got cold, and four canteens of water. The wire was sitting in a special pouch at the bottom that allowed it to run out behind him. There were two extra spools, but he hadn’t needed to switch the first one out yet.  Wrapped in a ball above it was a shining emergency blanket, the kind that was silver on one side and gold on the other. He pulled it out, untangling it to see if there was anything contained within that could help him with that strange light.

            He heard the clatter of something hitting the ground and he tossed the blanket aside. A pair of dark sunglasses laid before him and he smiled, putting them on and then stuffing everything back into his bag. He rose back up, looking back the way he’d come one more time. He might as well keep going, even if it was only death that waited for him at the other end.

            The sunglasses helped more than he could have asked for. He could finally see properly in the space and his pounding headache was slowly dying off. The further he moved into the tunnel the hotter it got. After another hour he was sweating bullets and panting like a dog. He clutched desperately to one of the canteens, occasionally pouring a small amount over his head to cool his body. He’d stripped his shirt off and didn’t even bother to keep hold of it, tossing it onto the ground.

            He reached for the radio on his hip and pressed down to call the men at the beginning. “It’s way too hot in here, I want to turn around.” he muttered, panting against the speaker.

            “Negative, you are to keep moving forward as are your orders.” The response was delivered drying and without any emotion.

            “If I go much further I’m going to drop dead.” He was frustrated and woozy, already feeling the effects of heat stroke.

            “That is a risk we are willing to take. Please continue forward.” Oh that voice, that dull, lifeless voice. He’d hated it since the day he’d joined the foundation. He had been forced to take orders from that voice from day one. He’d never seen the source of it, and if he had he most likely would have killed him.

            He huffed, trudging onward despite his better judgment. The heat kept rising, and then finally reached a constant temperature at what he assumed was a little over a hundred degrees. He went digging for his last water bottle, praying the end was near so he wouldn’t die of thirst. Each step became a chore, his own legs feeling like they were made of lead. But he didn’t stop, always moving forward.

            Then he could see it, a light at the end. But not this rough, artificial light that surrounded him. It was pure, real sunlight. He rushed toward it, his feet thudding roughly on the floor of the tunnel. But no matter how far he ran, it never got any closer. It was always just a short distance away, taunting him. He screamed out his anger and frustration as his body finally gave out. He collapse to the tunnel floor and drifted into blackness. And even though he knew this was the end, he was joyful, because at last he didn’t have to see the bright neon colors.

Reviews

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Such brilliant writing. You really capture pain and despair so well. I remember reading this piece and thinking about how much it meant to me. I wish I had the words before to tell you how I really felt about it. Your writing became so good so fast. I still think about you from time to time. I always feel like I could have done more to help you, but instead I probably made things worse for you. I wish you were alive now that I've grown. Now I really know the pain you were feeling and if you were still around I would've known to help you properly than be a fool. I'm sorry, Krystal. Your writing is beautiful and I'll always remember you.

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Oh, men. How disposable we are. I feel like I'm the one walking down this tunnel. This story is kind of parellel to being a working drone. You do what your told, even if it's bad for you, and at the end of it you still die alone and no one cares. Scum of the earth. This story is dark and depressing. I hate the fate this man has been given, but there's nothing him or I can do about. Feeling powerless is a horrible feeling.