Day Fifty-Four: A Cave

by Tom Noonan

This is my cave.  It’s here to be everything, but really just one thing.  This is the grave, the darkest place on earth.  This is where someone can die and decay, his bones arranging themselves nicely, to be hung later in a Junior High classroom.  Bats re-purpose his ribcage as housing.  It’s a pet store.

This is where he can be reborn from a light-permeated hole.  Stumbling, both weak and broken, he can emerge into the world that went on without him.  He can build fires while he’s down there, too, immersing himself in their warmth.  This is his mother’s womb.  His consciousness can expand along every wall.

This is where he can lose himself, where Plato once created entire worlds.  He can be Truman or Thomas Anderson.  This is the lie, the story that infects him, grasping tightly, crushing his lungs.  This is the shadows.  He’s one of them.

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