Spiral

The hole was always there, despite my disregard for it. I danced around it. I threw things into it. I made fun of it. I even talked to it. Sometimes it talked back.  The hole, from above, was just that. A hole. A hole only ten or fifteen feet deep. You would trip and fall, break an ankle, cry about it all the way to the hospital, until you were healthy again, back to making fun of the hole, throwing things into it.

When I did, I never questioned why I never heard the items hit the bottom. Only being fifteen feet deep, the sound should come almost immediately. I forced myself to bury any thought that the hole was anything more than a hole.

I never tried jumping into the hole. I looked over into it and threw items I had no use for into it, but never felt the need to jump into it. A broken ankle is not worth seeing what's at the bottom.

Sometimes I would sit on the edge of the cliff, letting the obscure mist influenced by the hole creep up from my toes and up as far as my abdomen. I always ignored it. The hole rarely talked back, but when it did, it was not pleasant. It made me angry, wanting to throw things at it even more. I always gave into that opportunity. I wondered if I threw enough things inside, maybe the hole would fill up, and I wouldn't have to ever worry about it again, but the hole knew me, and it would never allow that to happen.

I never know what I say to the hole, I barely ever remember its responses for more than fifteen seconds, on the rare occasion that it does respond. Maybe I say bad things to it, which makes it say bad things to me, which makes me throw things into it. I never know. I want to stop talking to it, knowing the results that come in retaliation, but I never do.

Once, as my feet swung off the edge, testing the limits of the hole, feeling its haze surrounding my lower body, it said something horrible to me. Something so bad I may cry if I regurgitate its words. I threw something at it. I do not remember what it was, but it was large. As the object was swallowed by the hole, I felt its darkness creep up to me more, like the fierce waves of the ocean engulfing my body before it plunges me into its trenches. The dark reached almost to my neck. I ignored it.

It wasn't big enough. No object around me could be big enough to exact the revenge I wanted. I looked around for an object. I looked everywhere and suddenly. I looked down. my chest. I was much larger than any item in this room. I resented the hole. A broken ankle would definitely be worth it. I thought about it for hours. We both sat in silence. The border of the hole's darkness slithered around my collarbone like a snake constricting its prey.

I finally made my decision.

I lifted myself off of the edge with my hands.

Then I leaped.

Immediately I knew what I had done, I lunged towards the edge at the last moment. My hands clung to the very edge, a single patch of dirt slowing down my inevitable doom.

The dirt broke, and I fell, and I was consumed.

Everything I thought I knew about the hole was proven false at that very moment. I fell for much longer than a second. I looked up for the bright light that I had fallen through, but there was nothing. How quickly had I fallen? How dark was this hole? I did not know, and would not, for a while.

Soon enough, the hole began screaming at me. Screaming detestable things, much worse than the words which caused me to fall. Much worse than I could handle.

The objects that I had thrown into the hole began to hit me an hour into the descent. I assumed they were my things. I couldn't see, but what else could it be? Maybe something was living in the hole, and it was taking jabs at me. After all I put the hole through, I could understand why.

Three hours of falling. I threw up, and I feared it would later fall back into me. It never did. I wondered if the hole chose what it would throw back into my face.

Learning to sleep while airborne took what I thought was hours. Every time I closed my eyes, the hole would throw something at me. After about three days of conscious falling, my desire to sleep far outweighed the pain of the objects hitting me, so I slept. Maybe the hole ran out of things to throw. I never did, so I doubt it did. When I woke up, I expected to wake up outside of the hole, completely safe and grounded. Ready to beg for the hole's forgiveness for my ignorance. I woke up in the dark, still falling.

After I finished crying, I decided to attempt to talk to the hole, and for once, I remembered what I spoke. I asked why I was falling. No response. I tried blaming the hole, saying its darkness is what pulled me into the hole. As I spoke those words I felt myself falling faster. I felt the darkness enveloping me thicken. It got harder to breathe. I cursed at the hole.

Then I asked for its forgiveness. No response. Then I begged. I swore I would never throw another thing in that hole. I swore I would treat the hole with kindness. I swore that if the hole would be filled with anything, it would be positivity, not objects. No response.

I believed what I said. I don't think the hole did, because I got hit with another object. I felt myself begin to plunge faster into the hole. Even then, I never stopped begging and apologizing.

I could not tell what time of the day it was. I measured days by when I went to sleep. I lost count on the third week.

What was either the second month or the end of the first year, right before I fell asleep, I saw a speck. It was smaller than anything I've ever thrown into the hole, but it was there. Right below me was a speck. It didn't move. It got bigger as the day progressed. When I woke up, the next day. I noticed it was not a speck, but a light. I knew this because if I focused hard enough, I could see my toes.

I was able to see my feet after three days.

I was able to see my torn and battered shirt after a week.

I was able to see the demon of the hole falling next to me on the second week. I would rather not speak of its details. I wondered if I would take its place.

When I woke up the next day, the entire hole was illuminated. The darkness of the hole completely gone. I could see that I was falling at a great speed. The dirt around me moved at no less than a blur. I felt a presence next to me. I turned my head, and there it was, staring at me. But it was no demon of darkness. It was me. Like looking into a mirror. A perfect reflection of myself. We stared at each other for a long time, not exchanging a single word. I wondered if this was the same abomination that I had seen the night before. That scared me.

Seconds after I woke up the next day, I was consumed in light. I felt my descent begin to slow down, for just a second. I opened my eyes, and the entrance to the hole was just above me. I began to fall once again, but the ground was below me now. I braced myself, and hit the cold grass with a thump. I looked to my right, and there was the hole. I looked at my feet, and there was my ankle, twisted in an unnatural position. I began to cry.

I returned to the hole a month later, except I could see much more. Before, it was darkness after no more than three feet. Now, I could see miles deep. The creature was nowhere to be seen. I felt at peace with the hole, so much that I had trusted it. Loved it. I spent a week with the hole. I talked, knowing what I had said, and it listened. We both spoke nothing but positivity. I noticed, sometimes, when I spoke to it, it would echo my words back to me, word for word, just in a different voice. It never spoke without me first saying something to it.

A month later, my feet dangled off the edge of the hole. I felt its light covering my entire body. I wanted more. So I leaped.

Instead of falling, I felt a swift wind rocket me up, stabilizing my feet back onto the safety of the ground.

It all was intentional. I fell for years, thinking my fate was unpreventable, but the hole could have saved me at any moment. Like it had some twisted ridiculous plan. I could have only fallen for a few moments, but I fell for years. the hole let this happen to me. Wanted this to happen to me. Caused this to happen to me.

It made me angry.

So angry I picked up a pebble no bigger than the fingernail on my pinky finger, said something to the hole that I do not remember, and tossed it into it.