You’re at the bottom of a well. It is cold, it is dark and you are starting to shiver. The only things you hear are the slow, steady trickle of water and the far off soughing of a cold breeze through old pines. Hunched, arms around knees. Your nape bristles and you think of spindly legs creeping between the gap where your collar gapes away from your skin. The cold and the damp seep into your bones. You imagine wet, limbless things slowly coiling through the mulch around you. And that cold breeze continues to blow through those old pines. Up above ground, in a place that doesn’t even know that you’re missing.
