Kid Blackheart

[Deamon]

Everything was pitch black and cold.

There was no noise.

Was she dead?

How ironic would it have been if hell was cold?

She reached out and her hand felt a wall, chilled and damp.

It was still silent.

Her hand pulled back from the wall and rested against her chest. There was a heartbeat.

She was alive, at least physically.

Metaphorically and conceptually she was dead. Not that her current status was much different from her existence back in Denton. Life hadn't been something she had kept up with very well and soon her existence would only be remembered by her parents and on whatever monument was built in remembrance of her class, her name engraved for the rest of time to be viewed for a split-second as someone read over all the victims. If anyone was even more interested a small part of her would be preserved on the internet through her sparse Facebook and a somewhat more active Instagram profile.

Reaching into the bag she had been assigned she withdrew the flashlight and clicked it on.

Tunnels.

Built for a purpose and being reused for the logical conclusion of reality TV competitions. Recycling and reclamation, the urban development project of the damned.

Her next step didn't matter and neither did the one after that. Not that they ever did really. Failure and success always having been built up as chance or the wrong choice at the wrong time. Forgetting that it was many different factors and even then you could just be doomed from the start. Life-changing choices made without even knowing you were having input. Filling out the form for a field trip a month earlier for example.

Trying to assess all the potential scenarios was an impossible task and unnecessary.

She was alive, physically, until she wasn't.

So she put one foot in front of the other and began walking in a direction chosen at random.

Walking felt strange.

She had no choice though.

Her board was gone.

((Continued))