Tunnels

Breathe

Marika. That's what they called me. Until that one day. Then my name changed from Marika to Filthy tunneler.
     Not legally, of course, but my actual name was never used again. Why? Why wasn't I just Marika Wellington? I'll answer your questions in time, but for now, the more important matters are more important.
     Here I stand, exactly on the edge of my old life, about to fall into my new one. I breathe in the cool, damp air of the tunnels below, The smell of mud, sweat, and another, more unrecognizable scent. The tips of my grown out bangs tickle my nose, and I twitch, forgetting that my hands are tied back.
     The gentle breeze of the tunnels are no longer gentle, but my squinting eyes do see this: from the tips up, my hair turns...purple. It seems absolutely irrational, but so is the idea of me being a tunneler. Yet here I am.
     I come out of my thoughts only to be greeted by the black, gaping hole in front of my toes and the surrounding crowd chanting for me to jump, jump, jump....
    I breathe in, then out. In, out. In. Out.
     There is nothing I can do. One more deep breath, then I lean forward.
     The fall is anything but graceful. The tight ropes around me squeeze my ribcage as I hear sounds of cheering above. My falling is quick and head first, straight through the black portal that is the entrance to the tunnels.

     Then I hit the ground.