The Books that Never made it

The Cave

It was dark and the air was dank and musky like an old basement or cellar. My breathing echoed off the cave walls and descended down the narrow tunnels behind me. My legs were tired and my knees were bloody and cut from getting sliced up on the jagged rocks that stuck up from the ground, the skin hanging daintily from the wounds like the peels from a banana.  The ground was so slippery with slime; I had to use the walls for some stability, tearing the flesh of my palm up while I did. Beneath my feet was the light trickling of a small stream, desperate for a way out and to smell the fresh air and see the light of day again, I followed it, hoping for a way out.

         It felt like I’d been walking for hours, and finding no sign of how close I was to finding my way out, I began to doubt my efforts.

My senses were blind to the odd lighting. It was light enough to get my bearings somewhat, but not to be comfortably confident in where I walked or what I touched. Feeling blindly against the wall as I stumbled like a confused deer, my hand reached over something warm and covered in softness—like fur. I quickly withdrew, startling the creature enough to screech and launch itself in my face, its leather-like wings slapping me in the face as its feet tangled in my hair, ripping out tuffs as it attempted to free itself from its sudden entanglement.  I screamed and swung my arms, shielding my face, feeling its claws rake against my cheeks. With a yelp of surprise, the creature became free and flew away with little cries until it slowly faded away and I heard it no more.

         I slowly lifted my head from my arms and blinked, reaching with my finger tips to my cheek where I felt warm blood trickle down my face. I got cold shivers just thinking about the many diseases I caught from that messy and stressful encounter. Normalizing my breathing and warily continued down my path.

         I grew tired. My wounds seemed to have bled dry and I was just going on fumes now. I was dizzy from lack of water; I could feel my brain pounding, the pain in sync with every beat of my heart. My eyelids were heavy and slick with sweat that dripped down my face and soaked my bloodstained torn clothing. I needed to stop, I needed water or food or something. I couldn’t go on like this—

I froze.

A sound brought me from my weak stupor. I blinked and looked down the tunnel that was decorated with fang-like rocks that stuck up out of the ground and bats that hung from the top of the cave, wrapped up like a burrito and slept. I licked my parched lips that were all cracked and dry like a desert and peered through the dim lit cave.

         At first I saw nothing, just rock, bats, and the slight gleam of the water I’d been following—but there. I looked closer and saw...something. I was too weak to fight the curiosity as it pulled me further to the object. I stumbled forward like a drunk and soon came to a puzzling sight. The ache in my head dulled as I soon became transfixed to the...things in front of me.

They were white, wrapped in a smooth plastic or silk, hanging like a lose booger from the top of the cave. They were large objects wrapped—or cocooned up like a butterfly or mummy. It perplexed me as I reached out with a shaky hand and felt the soft, but sticky substance. I yanked my hand back, surprised at the clinginess and fell back down on to the ground my hands covered in sticky white silk. I gasped at the pain and slowly tried to get to my feet, but when I looked up, I screamed.