Tourist Trap

It is hot in the tunnel, a stifling heat that comes from nowhere and everywhere. The weight of the mountain above presses down on me, holding me prisoner. My right arm is pinned against my side, while my left is stretched out in front of me. I grope for a point of purchase, something solid to push against, but find only emptiness. At full stretch, my fingertips just brush the floor of the tunnel, scattering the sand that covers it.

There is no light at all, nothing but this heat, this pressure, the choking closeness of the damp air, the gritty feeling under my fingers, the thud of my own pulse in my ears. I fight against the urge to scream for help. There is no one down here who can hear me, and I am too afraid of what my screams might bring.