The Shearing

Eight

We descend further into bleak darkness. Metals scream as they scrape to one another, and small circular holes from the walls of the rectangular pit leak firelight, casting dancing shadows.

The surrounding walls curve and narrow until its like a tube, and our backs meet the curve wall, then the pit itself curves further until we're already sliding along its curved surface as though in a watery slide, and Oliver's body slides against mine. Bulbs, which shine like fire, are screwed above us, flooding the empty dimness with its light.

Not long enough, distorted voices boom far ahead in the darkness along with metal screeches. As we descend further, more sounds start to blanket the air, from whistles to hammers to echoing footsteps. A wave of the underground's cold must dawns upon us.

I feel like entering a completely new world.

Dangling at the end of the void is what seems like a worn cloth. Firelight leaks from its crude slits.

"You may have thought that I've been only slacking myself within your house every time you leave for work, haven't you?" Oliver starts, his voice ricocheting from the compact walls, making it louder than the groaning metals ahead.

The growing sounds stab my ears and causes me to contort my face.

"What do you mean, and where on hell are we really heading?" I yell and brace myself for a possibly rough landing.

"No more explanations, you'll know it when you see it," Oliver snaps, and he even seem delighted that I'm lost in my confusion.

"You have so much explaining to do after this, Oliver!" I boom in response, and we both flinch as our ears throb once more.

"Welcome to Site A!" he proudly announces as we burst past the knit of threads that blanket the way.

The sudden surge of lights momentarily shut our eyelids down, and I feel Oliver's hands clamp on my arms, hefting it up and fastening it on what I think is a rope. His own sweaty hands clutch over mine.

As my eyes flutter open, I barely have the time to shut it back.

The tube-like void abruptly ends, and we start plummeting down probably two stories high from a rubble-cluttered floor.

I scream.

A wave of adrenaline washes over me. Thankfully, our trembling hands are clamped upon the rope, which steeply angles downward so we could slide instead of free falling down. The rope's thorny fibers threaten to breach past my bare skin, but fear mutes the piercing pain. I dare not close my eyes amidst the blinding orange lights that reign over whatever place I'm currently in.

It is hard to process everything at once, for we are on a steady course towards the grimy wall ahead where series of metal spires are screwed upon; sharp glinting edges are pointed to our way like serrated teeth, waiting to sink into our bodies. My stomach somersaults at the thought of being impaled.

"When I say let go, you let go of the rope, okay?!" Oliver commands.

Now I'm also starting to doubt his sanity. We're in a good distance away from the ground for our bones to shatter once we land, and he wants me to let go.

Sweat starts to claim my palms and acts like a lubricant, speeding us up as we slide closer to the spired wall ahead. My heartbeat starts to match my frantic breaths, and my bandaged wrist sings in searing pain.