Meanwhile

My life doesn’t revolve around any one, particular point. My life winds around itself. And, it seems, I only come out at night to roam the halls of the once waking world, past the locked public library doors, the abandoned football field, an empty swing set. That’s when I’ll notice the first one.

By popular concept, it’s a rabbit hole. In actuality, it’s a gopher burrow. The lawn spans out before me, riddled with them, juts of dirt pretending to be picturesque mounds. But they’ve been dodged in and out of so many times that it’s apparent the grass shoots disbanded long ago. Exposed is the battlefield, ravaged and at the ready to swallow up anyone foolish enough to march through—combat boots and all. Each time, I shoot from gullet to gut with an echoing gulp. I’m in. Again.

It’s a quiet sort of madness, retuning to these tunnels. Nothing but endless mazes waiting to suck the fresh air from my lungs. Nothing but shadows that hint at what might have been without ever revealing the is of it all. And they keep pulling me in with the promise that if I retrace my steps enough times I can recover what I thought I’d lost the on the first pass, the second, the third, the fourth…

Meanwhile, on the surface, a page turns, a coin has been tossed, and children launch their effervescent laughter into the sun.