A space, cavity, or room constructed for various purposes (specified or identified contextually); an enclosed space or compartment in a structure, mechanism, etc.
Mine ears can hear the sucking sound of a hatch sealed shut.
Hands against clear acrylic. Eight by four by two. Sixty-four cubic feet. That gives me about two hours. The question: Do you prefer to lose it at one shot, or slowly, excruciatingly slowly over time?
In all my games, I know that there is an end, and a return to ordinary life. But if a promise is broken, the key lost, a covenant forgotten... can I do anything more than count the seconds ticking by?
It is an unfortunate advance of humans that they can envision their demise long before it happens, long before there are in fact any signs. For twenty minutes there will be no sign that anything is amiss. Fresh air with every breath.
Then it begins. Subtly at first, but at some point I notice that I need to breathe deeper just to stay even. It's no longer cool, but warm and stale, like her breath in my mouth. What is it like to taste darkness for the last time? When you know there will be no memory of the last dusk?
Wishing it could be over, but there is nothing harder than forcing yourself to give in. Even gasps are not enough, like sliding down a hill with no brakes. My lips can form around the word, carressing it like a departing lover: "Please." But there is nothing besides the uncaring walls.
On my knees, at last, because I lack the strength, my hair in my eyes, the floor giving way beneath my head. This is no smooth passage, but a hellfire. I know she can see the aching in my head. But there is something behind trust, behind love, behind devotion. It is nothing I can name, yet I can hear nothing but its beating in my eyes.
Finis (no full stop)
Copyright (c) 1997 {hamlet}Ophelia