That's Golden
Prologue
I feel like my feet are stuck in the mud. I can't walk; I'm going too slowly to make it anywhere. I fall and stand; scream, and shout, but no one can hear me. I'm stuck in the mud. Am I alive or am I alone? I can't see any light; I can't feel any walls. The ground smells like fresh earth and bugs. Bugs ready to spring and grab hold, ready to pick at my flesh and gouge out my eyes. I kick and struggle, but there is still no light. What am I hitting? What am I missing?
I lift my left foot and I can hear the mud squish underneath me. It's getting angry and it's gathering water. The more I move, the more I sink, the more I become a part of the cave. But I won't let that happen, because I know that there's light somewhere ahead of me. I close my eyes and imagine the light, imagine a savior, imagine a way out of the mud.
I can't pretend anymore. I tell myself, firmly, that pushing and kicking and screaming is all I have. If no one can hear me, at least I'll know I'm alive. If I don't kick anything, at least I'll know my legs are still working. If I push, at least I know there's something out there to feel. I take my hands out of the mud, feel the pain shoot up my arm, and scream into the stalagmites and stalactites, feel them shake and rattle.
My hands are heavy and my arms are useless. How will I be able to push? What was I thinking? My hair is sticking to my face and my knees are caked with the blood-red mixture. I gasp as my arms fall against the ground again and I let out a gust of air. I scream into the dirt. Is the world leaving me?
