The Pit
by Jacqueline Dombrowski

	Never have I been in darkness this complete before. The Night 
enfolds me so close that I am unable to see my hand in front of my face. 
Five days have I been in this oubliette of despair, this pit of 
darkness. I feel when trying to retrieve a sample of bright shining pink 
quartz. The last light I saw, and, I fear, is the last light I ever will 
see.

	This darkness, this pitch black nothingness is so thick I can 
almost feel the silky smooth strands of black running over my 
fingertips. All I really feel though is cold mixed with a delicious 
numbing sensation. Long silence have desensitized my feet from feeling 
the floor. 

	I see, I see nothing. Nothing but shadows. Shadows of my life. 
Images come to me when I sleep. Those few times I have fallen into 
blessed Morpheus' arms. I dream, I dream of my family, all of them.

	I hear water dripping nearby. My only sustenance seeps out of a 
rock and showers to the flow. I hear my mother call my name and the 
chirping of night insects. An occasional rustling comes to my ears 
alerting me to the fact that someone, something is nearby. A life 
trapped in this pitch like me.

	I can taste nothing , yet I do. I taste the thickness of the stale 
air pushing on my lungs. I taste the thinness of two crystal clear drops 
of water. I taste rich foods and sweet wines, milk. I taste all that I 
have ever eaten yet they do not abate my starving stomach.

	Smells of rot and mildew seep in. So strong are they that the 
stench keeps me up. I smell the river. I smell the decaying bodies of 
those who live. I smell death.