Requiem for the Lost
MoshPit
"Mikey, we gotta stop; I need to rest." The sandy-haired boy stop short, and spun quickly, tennis shoes squeaking on the damp cave floor, eyes burning with a mix of excitement, terror, and adventure.
"We can't stop now, Mouth. The Fratellies could be right on our tail. We gotta keep moving." Five pairs of sullen eyes stared back at him, belonging to five tired bodies.
"We're all very tired," began Andy, in a soft voice. "We could stop here, if only for a few minutes, and maybe, if we put out the light, and if we're real quiet, and we stay near the walls, they might pass right by us?" Behind her, Data nodded, an earnestly hopeful expression on his face. Defeated, Mikey turned to Brand.
"You're the oldest; you call the shots," he said bitterly, not appreciating this usurpation of his leadership status. With little hesitation, the young man said: "We're staying."
Defeated, Mikey settled on the damp floor, and leaned against the wall of the cavern, wincing as the wetness penetrated his already moist denim pants, clutching the single lamp they had close to his legs. On his left, a short ways away, Brand and Andy sat, arms wrapped around each other. Across from him, Mouth had settled, with Steph a few feet away. And on his right, farther away than anyone, Data lay, his trench coat under his head, fiddling with the buttons on his belt.
"Everyone ready?" he called. Across the way, he saw Mouth wink at him.
"Lights out," the brazen boy said, a devious grin on his face. Mikey blew out the lamp. As the light faded, he swore he could see the boy reach a hand out towards Steph.
There was darkness.
"Mouth! Cut it out!"
"Hee hee hee…"
"You guys! Shut up!"
"Shhh!"
As the echo of their voices faded away, and the drip of stalactites forming came forth as the only sound, Mikey descended into a deeper level of thought.
He felt lost down here, in the dark; frankly speaking, he felt lost down here period. He put forth the image of the sure-footed leader because that's what they needed him to be; this whole expedition of sorts was his idea, after all. Truthfully, he was scared. He didn't know where they were, where they were headed, or even if they were going in the right direction. The map was covered in watermarks; he could barely make it out. He didn't know if they would ever make it out; they could very well be lost down here, forever.
And what if they did make it out? What if there was no treasure? They'd all have to leave; they'd be broken up, spread out, sent to different corners of the world. Andy and Brand would have to separate; he never see Steph or Mouth again; and as for Chunk and Data? Poor guys; there was a reason these few were their only friends, and it wasn't because they were Goonies.
He felt helpless.
In his sorrow, he hadn't notice the large, salty tears slowly making their way down his face until they reached the corners of his mouth, touching the tip of his tongue. Unable to control himself, he choked as quietly as he could, and began to cry. As he listened to his breaths hitch, he knew it was only a matter of time before Brand smacked him on the arm and told him to grow up. To his surprise, a slap was not what he received, but instead a comforting arm around the shoulder. Mikey looked up, and through tear-blurred vision he saw Brand's face, and felt Brand's body shaking in sadness against his own. The two brothers cried together.
In the distance, another chorus of sobs joined their own. Data? Across from him, Mikey saw in the darkness the silhouette of two bodies huddled close together, crying softly on each other's shoulders.
Sometime though all this, his couldn't pinpoint when, the cacophony of their grief stopped being just noise, and became music.
A song.
A requiem for the lost.