Hope. Lost?

He had been locked in for days. Surviving on only a small spring of water beside him. Darkness enveloped him. Only a small ray of light could be seen through the crack between the rocks. He slowly stood up. Hunger pangs attacked him with every step he took.

It was an old locked up mine shaft. All the exits were sealed shut with metal lids. In the nights, he had enough wood around to built a fire and warm himself up a little. Without food, he knew he wasn’t going to survive any longer as his supply of water was slowly running out.From a steady flow to a few drops a minute. He was out of his mind trying to find a way out of there.

It’s no use, I’ll die here, he thought to himself. He went through the contents of his backpack again. A knife, an empty bottle, a lighter, wallet and a pen. He toyed around with the knife. For the past few days, he had been trying to dig his way out. But, without the food supply, his progress slowed down as the days past. He sat down on the dusty floor, glancing at the picture in his wallet. How he missed hearing her voice. She would be worried sick by now.

I’ll get out of here, no matter what it takes, was his last thought before drifting off to sleep. When he woke up, it was already nighttime. He lit a fire to get warmth. How he wished he could have a piece of meat with him, to hear the sizzling sound of it as the fats ooze out of it. He had to get something to eat. He drank gulps of water to ease his hunger and went back to sleep.

He was getting frantic the next morning. There was no way in or out of this place. He had to get something to eat before his body collapsed. He had to stay strong for her. She was the only reason he was still alive. He glanced at the knife laying on the floor. The small ray of light caught the shiny surface of the stainless steel and beamed at him. He walked over and picked up the knife gently with both his hands. He held it like it was a fragile butterfly, so afraid that it might fall and break. Should I? he asked himself.

He tore of a small part of his clothes, tying it around the small area where the fingers and palm met. He held up his knife. He knew the pain. He knew the consequences. He dropped the knife. He couldn’t do it. He screamed with frustration. Maybe someone might hear him. Maybe not. He picked up the knife again. I need to eat something, he told himself.

“Is someone in there?” He heard someone shouting from the other side of the rocks. He shouted back. They told him to be patient, they would get help for him. I’m saved, he thought as he laid his head back against the rough surface of the wall. Blood oozing out of his hands. Not far away from his palm, laid a finger.