The Pit

"He's been down there a long time," I glanced over at Smoke, "longer than last time - aren't you concerned?"

I heard the panic creeping up in my throat, threatening to strangle my words.

Smoke didn't turn to look at me, but I knew his eyes were wide and unblinking - magnified through the lens of his binoculars. "He's got plenty of kerosene. You do this every goddamn time, Vipe."

He fell silent, pressing the binoculars harder against the cracks between the wooden slats we nailed to the windows all those years ago. I knew he wouldn’t see anything but poisonous vapor and suffocating darkness - he never did.

"Are you mad? It's the last of our kerosene."

Smoke paid me no attention. He knew as well as I that we were running out of time. My statement hung heavy in the air between us, unacknowledged.

I needed to distract myself - not such an easy feat when your world consists of one room. I looked up at the many shelves lining the walls. Once upon a time this refuge was a stroke of luck, a comforting sight packed to the brim with supplies. Through the years they dwindled. Now we'd be lucky to last a couple months.

I swallowed loudly - this kind of thinking was no distraction.

How much longer could we go on? The novelty of each other's company had worn off years ago. It's why we'd started on The Pit - our first (and most likely) only escape attempt, considering how badly things were going. When we'd begun, it was a distraction - but as death creeped steadily closer and closer it became our only lifeline.

"HEY!"

I turned on the spot, my chest beating quickly.

"Mars!" I yelled, striding to the center of the room and peering down into The Pit. "Mars, are you alright?"

"Vipe, I found something! I had to leave the lamp below, not enough hands. Shit, this is heavy. Stand back!"

I watched as a shovel flew out of the hole in the ground and came clattering to the floor above. A muddy wooden box soared out next and landed sharply on the ground, splitting open.

Smoke didn't even flinch - he remained perched at the window like a statue, watching.

……

Had the box not opened, had I not seen what was inside, I would have noticed the blood on Mars' hands as he pulled himself up and out of The Pit with the rope we had avoided using for more disastrous, life ending purposes. Mars never came out of The Pit bloody. He thrived in the tight spaces beneath the earth, exploring how tightly a human body could wedge between dirt and grime. He told me once it reminded him of birth - that each time he resurfaced he was a new man.

I told him that when it was my turn in The Pit I heard Voices.

"Yes," Smoke had said, eavesdropping. "It's important never to let them know you're listening."

It was after we started on The Pit that I stopped trusting Smoke and Mars.

.........

My mouth hung open. I had forgotten about money. Much in the same way I had forgotten about driving, about sunlight, about buying a drink for a pretty girl at a bar or making eye contact with a dog on a sidewalk. I had forgotten about power and about not being scared. But when $20,000 dollars comes crashing out of a wooden box and scatters across the room you've called home for god knows how many years, it's hard to remember why you ever forgot about money.

If instead of noticing the way these bills floated through the air, I had turned to Mars I might have seen him drag something else up from The Pit before reaching behind himself and tucking it into his pants.

If instead of reaching out to pluck a few fistfuls of cash off the filthy ground, I had peered into the box, I would have noticed the small black notebook sitting there expectantly.

But none of those things happened.

Because I had lied to Smoke and Mars. It wasn't just in The Pit - I had always heard Voices.

And they were back, only this time they were louder. The richest of us escapes! Money means new life! This was meant for us! You let Mars find OUR money! MARS IS NOT WORTHY!

In the corner, Smoke took a rattling breath and continued to peer through his binoculars into the dark. He hadn’t turned around. I didn't trust it.

"It was right in front of me."

I started. Mars was looking at me, calm and unsurprised, covered in filth. The whites of his eyes were too bright.

"I realized we needed to start tunneling to the left - far enough that when we breach the surface we'll still be indoors, maybe a new room. It'll give us a better chance at survival than ending up outside. But then my shovel smacked into this box."

"You didn’t look inside?" I asked, eyes wandering towards a haphazard pile of cash on the floor next to his foot.

"No," Mars replied, eyes shining, "but I had a gut feeling. Do you ever get a gut feeling, Vipe? That things might turn out alright for you?"

An electric charge passed between us. Mars had his left hand behind his back. Smoke was still sitting at the window, eyes flush up against those binoculars. But I knew he was paying attention.

I took a minuscule step forward, inching my way to the pile of money on the ground. My eye caught on the shovel that had landed on the other side of The Pit. It's long wooden handle had been splintered in two - half of it was missing. A sharp half. I darted a look at the hand behind Mars' back.

He caught me.

"Mars, when you say things might turn out alright for you...you mean us, right?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "Now come on Vipe, what kinda friend would I be if I only meant myself?"

But you haven't been friends in a long time. Such a long time. You can buy new friends Vipe, you can buy them after you get out.

I shook my head to get rid of the Voices. "Then we split this, yeah?"

Saying it didn't equate to meaning it.

And before Mars could reply I hurled myself at him, catching him right in the chest. I watched in slow motion as he keeled back with an expression of mirth as though he'd seen this coming and was in on some cosmic joke I'd never get.

No one had ever warned me how quiet murder could be.

There was a soft crunch as the handmade stake Mars had been too slow to use on me caused his own demise. He fell backwards into it, before disappearing into the darkness of The Pit below. I knew he was dead. I had that gut feeling that things might turn out alright for me.

Somewhere outside, poisonous wind howled.

I turned to see Smoke finally facing me. I realized, startled, that I hadn't seen his eyes in a very long time. They were milky white.

Blind.

We forgot Smoke had gone blind didn't we? How did we forget something like that? When your heart's on fire, you must realize, Smoke gets in your eyes, sang my Voices. I shushed them.

Smoke's hands were curled around his binoculars. Suddenly he seemed very feeble, as if clutching the specs held him together.

"Mars, what was in the box? Vipe? Guys, what did you find?"

I took a slow step towards him.

What could he do with all that money? Slow us down, he'll slow us down, that's all he can do. The Voices were gleeful.

"Smoke. Hey Smoke, what do you actually do with those binoculars all day?"

He tilted his blank look towards the sound of my voice.

"What do you mean?" he replied incredulously. "I'm the lookout."

I stared.

"Vipe, what's going on, did Mars go back down into The Pit? You were talking and then he was gone."

"Yeah...yeah, he went back down. I think he'll be down there for quite some time."

"I don't understand - did he find something important? He was down there for hours."

"Yes," I replied, shuffling closer to him, my eyes trained on the binoculars in his hand. Heavy binoculars, made of solid metal - military grade. "He found buried treasure. He found money, Smoke. Hey let me see those for a second, they need a cleaning."

He offered them up in my general direction. I snatched at them.

Heavy heavy heavy does the trick!

"He found a box of money? What the fuck are we supposed to -"

I bashed the binoculars across his face. Three times. He knocked into the wooden slats at the window, mouth agape, barely a breath left. His face was no longer recognizable - I felt better. It didn’t look like my friend anymore.

"I hope it’s worth it," he choked.

Important, very important, don't let him know you're listening! My Voices sang at me furiously. I raised the binoculars up and brought them down one final time.

.........

Time passed. Without anyone to talk to it was hard to tell how much.

I never looked at The Pit anymore, I knew I would never go down there again. Mars had been swallowed up by it - whether in a stage of death or rebirth I was no longer sure.

I lived my new life in a staring contest with Smoke. He gazed at me, forever immobile, from across the room - his white pupils were unmistakable though his face had begun to rot. No matter where I moved I was never out of his line of vision, never past the point of judgement. I gave up on eating, on moving, on thinking past the cloudy void that encompassed me when I looked at him. On occasion, a chilly draft would send my dollar bills dancing about the room. There was nowhere to go, no escape to be had. The toxic world outside never called to me again. It was me, it was Smoke, and it was my money. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, refusing to stop.

When your heart's on fire, you must realize, Smoke gets in your eyes, sang my Voices, over and over and over.

.........

Flames lapped all around me, embers dancing from one bill to the next, on and on in a hypnotic rhythm of heat and light and redemption.

I adorned Smoke in hundreds of dollars - stacked other bills in heaps around him on the floor like an offering and lit a match. He had to go - I couldn't bear him any longer. I was out of options, out sight, out of mind.

The Voices shrieked at me, begged me to reconsider, threatened to make me go outside. I shut my eyes tightly to them and sat still, feeling the burn of unbridled fire. My lungs struggled against the dense grey fumes suffocating me. To preserve strength, I lowered myself flat on my stomach to the ground.

I realized that down here I was level with an upturned box. A box that had once held such importance to me, now empty but for one small black notebook. I hadn't seen the notebook. I wriggled towards it, and with burned hands I painstakingly drew it close to my face to see what was written.

"I cast this box downward toward the Devil Himself - may this offering appease Him and save the souls of those I sacrificed for this wealth-"

My lungs screamed at me as my vision blurred and I began to lose consciousness.

I never did finish reading the message. Smoke got in my eyes.