Lullaby

The darkness was complete. He struggled against its marshmallow absorbency, pushing with restricted arms and legs, until he fell back exhausted. He felt it pressing down on his face, suffocating him, weighing down his eyes as they tried to open beyond the blackness. He had waited, floating in silent eternity.1

He sucked in begrudged air and winced as his rib cage rose, then fell, as he let out a long, shuddering breath. His eyes felt gritty and sore, his tongue, caked and dry. He desperately tried to moisten his mouth with saliva. He gulped hard, and swallowed cactus spines.2

He couldn’t move his head more than a few inches in any direction and something was pressing into his back with wicked sharp fingers, until, in frustration, he pushed at it impatiently. His upper body moved. The sudden onslaught of pain made him cry aloud, his voice was consumed by the darkness. He lay quite still and waited. Waited for the death that wouldn’t come. Finally, he slept.3

The ache in his bladder awoke him. It seemed that now he could move a little more freely. The pressure in his back had eased. He wriggled uncomfortably and listened to the silence. The silence and darkness were battling against each other. Roaring and smothering in turn, as each sought dominance. If only he could ease his cramped position. He struggled and pushed, ignoring pain and scrabbling against the walls of his prison with painful fingers.4

There was a rustling above him and then movement. Odd fragments of rock started to fall, like the first heavy raindrops before a thunderstorm. Their volume increased, until they rained stinging blows on his unprotected face. He shrieked in terror and covered his face with his hands. The ache in his bladder was suddenly relieved.5

He was lying in the warmth of his own urine. It was comforting and then, as he and it grew colder, he felt a sense of shame. He must fight the silence and darkness. He mumbled odd sentences and then tried to sing in a croaking, tuneless voice. The silence roared him down, the darkness smothered him. He slept.6

He could hear a voice. It shouted above the silence. The silence howled back, drowning the voice to a gurgled protest. The voice was insistent. It rose, frothing, like a wave moving across a shallow bay. It summoned the last of its strength, and threw itself towards the shore. The darkness devoured it. He started to cry. Deep, despairing sobs. The silence cackled hysterically and bounced around the walls of his prison, zigzagging above his head.7

His face was sore from numerous cuts, dried blood had plastered his cheeks and stiffened his hair. (He thought of his mother. Would she know him now?) His cramped, bruised hands searched for his helmet, but found only sharp rocks. (Would he ever hear, or see her again?) He felt around the area by his head. (He’d been away a long time. Now he ached to hear her sing once more, chasing away the shadows with a lullaby.) He found the helmet, but it was trapped under a rock. (He could remember the tune she sang. It had drifted softly in the darkness, soothing his childish fears.) His fingers worked feverishly to free the helmet. He painfully hummed the tune in broken staccato notes. (The words wouldn’t come.) There came the sound of heavy raindrops. He lay still and the darkness embraced him.8

Darkness and Silence had united to fight another foe. Death. It hovered behind the blackness, and he reached out a welcoming hand. Darkness moved between, as Silence fought Death. He pleaded with Death, but it remained hesitant on the outskirts of his prison. (She had taught him to pray, a lifetime ago.) He prayed for Death, but still it wouldn’t come. He reached for his helmet and pulled, calling aloud to his mother. The helmet came free, and with it came light. He had defeated Darkness. He sniggered, and then began to laugh uncontrollably. Death crept a little closer.9

There were noises above him; the whirring of machinery, the sound of tools. The rain began to fall again. He screamed. The noises stopped. Other noises. Voices calling. He lay with his eyes closed. They were calling him. His answer rattled in the raw dryness of his throat. The noise of the tools started again; hard metallic clanging, rhythmic, continuous. Silence had been defeated. He started to giggle and stopped. Perspiration and fear prickled his skin.10

As life slid down the dust-speckled light filtering from above, he saw Death patiently moving towards him. He turned to watch his rescuers and then he heard his mother sing. Clear, sweet notes, and he remembered every word.11