27/04/13
This is drawn from two weeks in my course. One in the first semester where I had to use punctuation creatively and I ended up writing this story but with one word sentences to build tension. Then in semester two, we were asked to write a paragraph revolving around a colour, so I chose black which was assigned to our group during the lesson.
Where there is no light, there are no
shadows. No thief of your own identity glued to you. It’s easy to become
unstable down here, scared into insanity by this blind hell. The sewers are not
a natural dwelling for humans, we’re not built to survive this sort of terrain,
to be visually numb. It’s chaos for the senses in this eternal night. The
darkness invades our eyes, enveloping our optics and forcing our other senses
to enhance for survival. Smell is a sense I could do with reducing, the fetid
odours of waste in abundance singes my nostrils daily, the constant change in
temperature and varying waste, meaning that getting used to the scent is
impossible. Touch is not all that pleasant either. The tunnels are a labyrinth,
a maze of cold stone walls ending and turning sharply, easily catching those
with wavering memories. The stones underfoot are slimy, as if slathered in inky
oil. Not that anyone could tell in this darkness. We’re so far below the
ground, that during the day not even a sliver of daylight penetrates the
blackness. You’d think that tendrils of sunlight could easily claw through the
cracks in the stone compilations, but we had to fortify that in order to stay
safe, condemning ourselves to a lifetime of darkness to maintain a life. And a
human race.
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