The Relative Blackness pt.1

The filter on the big rubber suit doesn’t keep out the stench. Dim light, dark green and brown on the walls. The mask blocks my peripheral, and I turn clumsily to look over at Evan who is standing under one of the few functioning lights in the hall, scraping a thick, pillow-like block of mold off the wall with an old, short pencil. He fumbles with it through his thick yellow glove.

I peer down the hallway, into the relative blackness. The only way out is through there.


He keeps scraping away. I walk up and grab his wrist, shaking the pencil from his grip. He just looks down at the wood and graphite on the ground. I tell him not to touch the growths. There’s a rumble in the distance. There’s always a rumble before one of us… goes missing.

A thick power cord leads from one end of the hallway, and down into the dark, towards the exit. Innumerable turns, miles of hallways in between here and there.

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