In the Caverns

Figure eights in the distance, in the dandelion circles we fall and we fly. And together we fall and we fly, in equal measure. We listen to mild-mannered songs and we reminisce about how in the good old days, it used to be different, the bright pink sky above us turning everyone sunburnt and inwards, societally and spiritually inwards.

In case we are unsure, a magic match has been relit and is adding to the kindling in the cavern, and is adding to the great Cavern of chalk and Ice that is built into the side of the Grim Devil’s Mountain. “Bulrush, bulrush”, they all chant, gathered around the newly kindled fire, but I remain silent. and I remind yourself that so should you, it would be in your best interest, but I’ve heard you chant with the Gathering several times. 

We missed the pink skies, but the pink skies are far too insistent on burning our skin. As lovely as the pink skies are…

As lovely as the pink skies are, one cannot spend too much time outside without being noticeably and negatively affected. Best to stay in the caverns.

But what is there to do all day, in the caverns, besides walk, and eat, and converse, pray to the fire god or not pray to the fire god? What else is there to do, in all honesty?

You have harvested grain – good. You have harvested dairy – good. You have kept your supply of medicines and herbs – even better. The trick is to keep our stockpiles intact, hidden, and add to them whenever and however possible. You have done a fine job at this, but I have some room for growth. Such is life.

We will get out of the caverns one day soon, and we’ll find protection from the harsh but deceptively cheery ray-rays of the pink sun, and we will be sufficiently on our way. The only questions are, who is the Bag Man, and where are the meals? We cannot carry all of this stash with us.

Best to make the rounds in the caverns, and see who we can trust – or, at the very least, who can be bent or bought. You have a better pulse on that than I do, I tend to just keep to myself, like the narcissistic shy mess that I am. Do a bit of digging, a bit of sleuthing, see what you can find. I’ll warm the fires back here at Central.

Three days passing by in the caverns, without stepping outside once and no word from you. I’m all by my Johnny Lonesome, in a lonesome little nook, by the fires at Central. Have you left me with all the loot, or have you left with the loot in tow, leaving Lonesome Johnny all on his own, double the lonesomeness? What a web to weave, if, if in fact, you have weaved it.

I scurry away, look to identify and secure the hidden stash, and it is all there, all accounted for.

 I spend the next three days looking for you, in the caverns, asking around for you, but no one has seen you recently and no one seems to know where you are. Now I am worried, more worried than I’ve been before. I wait ten more days in my chosen nook, near the fires at Central, and I do not see or hear from you. Now, after the ten days, I assume the worst. I assume that you deserted me, without the loot.

I crawl into the hiding space and make a bed on all the loot the two of us have secured. I sleep there and I stay there for two straight weeks, living off the provisions we have accrued.

You appear on the fifteenth day and say that the outside is unlivable, untenable, not worth it, a lost cause. Your skin and your face are dark red and your eyes are bloodshot. I can see the veins in your arms, and your collar bone is sticking out. You look malnourished and jumped up on something at the exact same time. I’ve never seen anything like it.

You tell me that it’s not safe out there – “it’s untenable”, you say. But I argue that it’s not safe in the caverns, not with everyone on the brink of mutiny, I say. So it’s not safe anywhere, I asked to clarify. So it’s not safe anywhere. You stop to think, and then you tell me with absolute certainty that it is not safe out there. Less safe than in here, I asked to clarify. Ultimately you do not answer. You reach for some of the provisions and begin stuffing your mouth with food. I tell you not to eat so fast that you’ll choke, but I’m just talking to the air at this point. You clearly have a better grasp on things than I do.

So we just kill ourselves then, I asked to clarify. So we just kill ourselves then. You stop chewing for a second and look down at the ground. You continue chewing and swallow it with great difficulty. We don’t go back out there, you say. Under any circumstances, I ask. You nod. Under any circumstances. Okay, I say. Just so we’re clear.

We stay in the hiding place and live off more of the provisions for the next two weeks. We hold hands, take some deep and mounting breaths, and go out to the Central fires to face the mutiny.