UNDERNEATH

NOT REALLY FLASH FICTION,
MORE OF A LONG THOUGHT

I closed my car door, locked it, and heard the reassuring chirp in response. I lifted my backpack higher on my shoulder, lunchbox in hand, and paused for a moment to take in the view. From this height, it looked as if a spider spun a fragile web of lights in the yawning dark below.

I turned and faced the mountain peak blocking out the sky, a granite behemoth dressed in electric fencing and barbed wire. The gateway to the Underneath beckoned, and I crossed the parking lot as if helpless to answer its call. I swiped my badge, entered my alphanumeric code, placed my hand on the glass plate for biometric scanning, and gained entrance to a waiting area made of four glass walls. It always made me feel like a fish in a fishbowl.

I avoided eye contact with the others. Small talk was never my forte. Everyone in the waiting area wore backpacks, but carried different survival accouterment. One man carried three stacked doughnut boxes, another carried a plastic milk jug filled with water, another a super-sized thermos of coffee. I inspected my shoes and realized they needed cleaning.

Two glaring beams of light pierced a glass wall and everyone exited the waiting area into single file line. The ornate, white bus slowed to a stop in front of us. The metal door hissed open, and we each climbed the three steps inside and found seats like well-trained, sleepwalking soldiers. As the bus lurched forward, I watched the mouth of the mountain swallow us whole. Intermittent tunnel lights sped by, pinpricks of light in the dark, and examined the hewn rock walls as we jostled toward our destination.

The bus driver was a friendly fellow in a fedora who liked to tell stories about his daily close calls with death. The people in front nodded and chuckled appropriately, like bobble-head dolls with pull-strings. When the bus stopped, we filed off, muttering disingenuous pleasantries to the fedora’d Styx ferryman.

I paused in front of the two-story tall, eight-person wide, five-foot thick metal door with cylindrical steel teeth protruding from its side. It was open for the moment, which meant relative peace and safety. I pulled my backpack higher on my shoulder, crossed the threshold, and shuddered at the thought of the day the doors closed behind me.