This Meadow Is a Cave

A voice says, “Do you want to die?”

She can’t hear it. Her ears don’t work right now.

A tube goes down her throat.

She can’t feel it. Her nerves don’t work right now.

A needle is pushed through her chest.

She doesn’t know it. Her heart is broken right now.

It’s cold in the cave. Water is dripping down the stalactites hanging just over her head. Echoes are bouncing everywhere. Her arms and legs spread along the floor like mini canals dug into the earth. The heartbeat of a beep starts its rhythm along the muddy sides of the cave and then travels through the center of her body, intruding every cell with its mechanical pulse before it circles back out again. A six-foot rat snake tunnels its way up and over her arm and then wraps its body tight. Squeezes. Sounds emerge from the subterranean pool of water beneath her. Bubbles from the cave pond cover her face, popping in and out of her mouth and nose. Some of the bubbles, from the deepest depths of the cave pond, are colored a deep red. They spill down over the rim of her cheekbones and hit the ground with a sound that howls against the cold, wet walls. A tornado of pain. The cave gets louder and louder, until the ground beneath her begins to scream back at the walls. Echoes play off each other like dewdrops reflected in a spider web, bouncing into each other and then back out. The noise escalates into a thunderous roar and the ground shakes beneath her. Soon, the gut-wrenching scream gets so loud that the top of the cave ceiling begins to crack. A viny cord reaches out of the crack and coils itself around a stalagmite before making its way up through her mouth and then scratching its way down her throat. The rat snake releases her arm just as the ceiling caves in. Cave icicles break off in every direction and puncture her skin everywhere. When they pierce through her head, they clamp themselves inside, growing new spikes while they twist. The rat snake appears again, six inches from her face, and speaks to her through its eyes.

It says, “Do you want to die?”

She can’t hear it. Her ears don’t work right now.

Her heart stops and is restarted.

She doesn’t know. Her brain doesn’t work right now.

Her heart stops and is restarted.

She doesn’t know. She’s not here right now.

A machine silences the room.

A heart tries again.

Her heart muscles contract.

She can feel it.

A voice is talking.

She can hear it