Feel The Fear

Feel the Fear

He shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Or the second, for that matter … or the third, or …
Puto, ergo sum. He recognised this scrap from his schoolboy memories, knew it was a Latin phrase, knew its meaning. He knew he existed, as a sentient being. Why didn’t he know his own name?
Also: where exactly might ‘There’ be? No light. No sound. No sensation of Up or Down, Heat or Cold: nothing. As with not knowing his Name, the same question arose. Why?
Wherever There might be, he was absolutely certain of one thing. He didn’t like it, and he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to get Somewhere Else …
Blink, blink. Yes, he could feel the tiny muscles which controlled his eyelids contract, relax, but it made no difference. His environs were an unremitting, unchanging, totally black void.
Sight and Hearing had no immediate value as information gatherers. Perhaps he could learn something from Touch …?
Flex fingers. Sensitive fingertips register contact with the firm, dry flesh of his palms. It requires a conscious effort not to unleash a primal yell of triumph at this first minor success. Slowly, deliberately, he walks the fingertips of his left hand across his right wrist, exploring, probing. Still flesh: a further half-inch beyond, exactly where he hopes to find it, a faint rustle of clothing confirms that he is clothed, not naked and defenceless.
Cautious, gentle blind probing in the impenetrable darkness. He is fully clothed but cannot decide if he is on his feet, his head, his flank. Stretching all four limbs to their full extent, he fails to make contact with any surface. He appears weightless, floating in a space of unknown, unfathomable dimensions. The fear of the unknown compounds his primal instinctive fear of the silent dark.
Somewhere deep within him a hot spark of anger flickers into life. This was not a place he would choose to be. Therefore, Someone had placed him there against his will, depriving him of his full range of Senses. Further: he has no knowledge of his Name. Who dared deny him this most fundamental of all human rights?
Without the guidance of his senses there was no point in attempting to move in any direction. The only thing he could do was fan the nascent spark of ire he felt until it blossomed into a flame capable of dispelling the dread dark.
He concentrated on nurturing the inner glow, willing it to expand and grow until he felt a sensation of warmth spreading, reawakening deadened nerves. Pins and needles coursed through his body as he felt blood pumping in his veins. Soon he could Hear once more: the regular thud! of blood against his eardrum, the whisper of breath as he filled his lungs until his ribs threatened to crack.
He was winning: he was on fire! The darkness began to waver and retreat. Slowly his sight returned, with hints and suggestions of angles and shadows cast by walls, a floor, a ceiling of some sort, but with no points of reference to help him judge distances or dimensions.
It was no longer possible to contain his cry of triumph. Spreading his arms he emptied his lungs, flooding the fearful once-dark with a boisterous, bubbling stream of pure, healing, wordless music. The last shadows fled as the invisible wave swept all before it, doubling and redoubling in power and volume as it reached the walls and rebounded.
A basso continuo rumble of rockfall was added to the vibrant, living music. A slightly jagged vertical crack appeared soundlessly before his eyes, admitting a gentle current of fresh air, so pure he sensed it had never been breathed by anyone else prior to that unique magical moment.
Still singing, he drifted towards it, conscious of the movement, feeling no contact on the soles of his feet. He had succeeded in facing down his personal dark demons. Now he could once more fly in freedom.