Phobia

41. The Tunnel

TW - ABUSE

I am trapped in a tunnel. A narrow, endless tunnel made out of sand, with only enough space for me to crawl. I do not know how long I have been here, but I know that it has been so long that I have forgotten what the outside world looks like. I cannot recall any faces of my loved ones, or even my face for that matter. I only have names in my memories, and those too have begun to fade. I'm clinging onto them by mere threads, but they won't stay. Nothing stays. 

I am terrified at night. I hear unnatural howls, chilling screams, and I do not know if they're coming from my surroundings or from within. The air keeps running out day by day, and it doesn't matter how I crawl through the tunnel, it is clear that one day, I'll cease to exist. I don't have any illusions of awaiting freedom, I know I cannot escape. If I could, I would've been free by now. And even if I did escape this tunnel, I don't even know if anyone is awaiting my return. If there is no one, then all my efforts are wasted. Then, there is no reason for me to keep trying. And somewhere in my heart, I already suspect that everyone has moved on with their lives. I was just a blip in their journey, and well, they couldn't stand by my side forever. I do not fault them. I would probably move on too. Life is too short to revolve around a missing person.

Sometimes I think I am already dead. That this is the afterlife, a long, winding tunnel. But then I hear myself breathe, and it feels too real to be the afterlife. It couldn't be the end yet. Right?

As I feel myself get weaker, my memories return, one by one in my sleep. Me, blowing out the birthday candles on my 8th birthday, a party cap lopsided on my head. I have soft eyes. Soft, small eyes. My parents, laughing, teaching me how to blow bubbles. My favourite song, playing on repeat, blasting at the highest volume on the radio as my friends and I sing at the top of our lungs. Me, graduating, throwing my black cap into the air. The sunlight on my back at the beach with my dog. Me, realising something was off, that marriage was more of a duty than an emotion. My baby, and the proud look in my parents' eyes as they looked at him. My dog's death, and me bawling my eyes out at his funeral.

Eri, and the realisation that I had never loved my husband like I loved her. I could never love him. My fear over my husband's reaction. My parents, begging me to run away with my son and Eri. They were terrified of him. I thought highly of him. Me, telling him, Eri and my son far, far away.  

The stale smell of alcohol in my husband's breath. His red, angry eyes. The blonde woman on his bed, wrinkling her delicate nose in disgust. 

And then, one night, the final memory hits me. Me, screaming in agony as he dragged me by my hair to the garden. Me, crying in vain as he threw me into a freshly dug grave. Me, gasping for air as he shoved soil on the grave to bury me alive. I know now. I know why I'm never getting out of here. Because I am already dead, buried under the garden I carefully crafted. Reliving my worst memories, over and over again.