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Write six-word stories

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An excerpt from Six-Word.

You find yourself curled up on the surface of a damp pig iron grate. Soil wipes from your brow. The square rods that make up this grate have left deep notches in your flesh. Soft phosphorescent voids flood the gloom in your vision and you smell and taste iron rust.

Rolling onto your back, the fuzzy stains of darkness above you, at first overwhelming, begin to break apart and form familiar astrological trails.

Though your numb fingers do not feel any the texture or temperature, the edge of the disc upon which you lay is an arm length away.

This seems to be the belly of a well. As you reach further behind into the gloominess you reach a relatively flat surface of salty rock. It is a firm smooth surface laced with streams of sand and crumbs of chipped rock.

The environment is not wholly unlike a cave, it is dark, there is a waxy glint of stalactite growing up the walls to a few metres above the floor. The majority of this encasement tapers up to an uncertain height and then the walls becomes composed of sandstone.

Crawling across the peat, being short-sighted, you begin to make out roots hanging from the wall. The roots had grown like vines seeking water, in a most natural manner, from the wall down to the floor. The subterranean room becomes darker as clouds close over the milky dusk.

Searching for something to help bear your weight you find the roots are smooth and wet along the upward facing tissues and have a prickly bark on the underside. There is no way to grip the stalactites or crumbling sandstone. With to much of your weight on them, the roots tear away from the wall leaving tiny holes. You grab another thick clump and hoist yourself up.

A lightning blast explodes, exposing the picture of the underground hole, and an inundating rain begins to hit the canopy far above.

The stone walls are striped with red lines, black tangles of roots run haphazardly down the wall, nothing closes the distance to the top. With your eyes adjusting to the gloom again, you stay focused on a deep corner in the well, where the triangular gap going far beneath the ground appeared.

As chains of lightning start to flash at a distance you see in the iron grate, pitted and darkly weathered, one bar standing freely up in the air.

There was a large stalagmite crystal under the grate, that had been shattered by the fall. The towers left standing lean against one another like diseased monarchs and broken teeth.

Many of the wired joinings of the grate are broken and its great hoop has come undone. Bent and twisted out of connection.

You quickly seize hold of the loose bar, prying it up while the thunder and lighting broil and rumbles outside. Pausing there, you feel a faint drizzle fall across your arms and quickly move into the shadows to begin work on opening the hole.

Setting all your weight against the iron bar and levering it against the mouth of the opening, the iron groans and a small rock splits free. You kneel down to examine the chunk of stone. Your torn clothing, stained with rust, wicks up moisture around your knee.

As the water table climbs, to get above the uprising waters, insects crawl out from their flooded homes and form long broad swirls, climbing up the towers of calcite.

The room has transformed into a torrent of streams pouring down from the walls. Choking and sputtering, you look for a window to the outside through this narrow escape near the ground. The gathering water soon reaches the top of the opening and begins gurgling through.

Taking the great rod like a key, you rise to your feet and drive and turn it against the locked door, losing hope. Then, suddenly, with a splash the opening is removed and your feet along with it.

You slide into a long lake beneath the well. You keep ahold of the rod and move slowly through pitch blackness, using the rod as a tool to search through a maze of falls and slips. For hours you search. You follow the stream to the most grandiose opening of the outside world.

Taking relief at seeing the exit, you do not stop, but are driven forward with the same sense of urgency as you felt in the cave.

Coming to a clearing within earshot of some falls or rapids, the evening light, like a torch behind the thick fog and leaves, burns out. Here you will take rest in a broad vale of trees.

You awake the following day. A bat has slinked off with a belly full of your blood during the night. Hungry mosquitoes have also come to fill their sacs and infest your wounds. You swat them to almost no avail. Nothing larger had found you laying there.

The cloudy sky above, trapped by glass and white tapestries, has its walls of finely chiseled marble and a podium of disks linked by small chains and slender beams beyond then. You place your hands into the stream and, like a clear spring, water raises into your cupped hands. Taking a sip, you feel the cool water venture from your lips down to your toes. You soothe the heat of your brow with a handful of ecstasy and the tightness in your stomach releases.

After several minutes here you feel refreshed.
 
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