“I know. It’s the ventilators. They keep it dry in here.”
“It’s very dry. My fingers feel smooth all the time.”
“Good for them.”
I want to take his hand. To touch something other than concrete, but I don’t. He wouldn’t take it right. It’s already awkward, both of us wearing only smiley-face belly scars and tattoos.
“Have you ever seen anyone else? Any women?”
“No. Only you.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Nothing to count with.”
“Your hair?”
“Like yours, it grew out long ago. Useless.”
“It’s not useless. It’s good for resting your head. Do you remember when you first came here? Your bald skull on the ground when you slept?”
“No.”
“Well, then you’ve been here longer than me. I still remember.”
We pass another spotlight. I’ve seen thousands, and never a burnt out bulb. Every bulb I see, I wonder who’s changing them. Every bulb I see, I get angry at myself for thinking the same damn thing. Our beards make our shadows look like goats on the far wall. Long man-goats. It makes me think of meat.
“Have you ever found food in here?”
“No.”
“Even rats or anything?”
“No.”
“Me neither. They weren’t lying.”
“They never lie.”
“Everyone lies sometimes.”
“Not them.”
I hadn’t believed them. When they cut open my stomach and shoved that black ball inside it. When they sewed me shut and told me I’d never need to eat again. That it was part of my punishment. Now I believe them.
“If they don’t lie, then you think there’s a way out?”
“Yes. And no.”
“What do you mean?”
“There could be a way out. But that doesn’t mean we can use it.”
“Oh.”
I’m sick of the chalk taint in the air. I raise my arm to my mouth and start licking, just for the taste. The only other flavor I can get in here; my own. He looks at me and scowls. We haven’t been together very long, and sometimes I think he would prefer to be alone again.
Other times, I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about eating me.
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Not sure where this image came from. I like the curvy cool endless feeling of the thing though.
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