Life is just wonderful. I have been snuggling in here for months, room service providing regular inputs of snips, snails, sugar and spice, my every need on hand in this all-encompassing, secure capsule, even taking the garbage out, as necessary. Really, what more could I ask?
But I know things need to change. I’ve been ready for weeks. There is a new pulse, excitement, some trepidation but adventure awaits. I start to kick, to alert the assembled masses that there is a need to move the dial to an ‘all systems go’ setting. My efforts are not getting the necessary responses. I try another kick. I hear a soft murmur, a grunt.
I hear lots of gentle murmurs from ‘outside’ – are they lullabies on the airwaves? There is singing, out of tune, softly as I’m trying to do a little stretching; getting myself ready for a final manoeuvre.
My thumb disappears. Its long slippery surface confirms calm in this moist, dark warmth. I refine my technique – gotta line it up, then in it goes; slurp, suck and hold. Mmm yep, that’s it. I’m ready.
I think I’ve been here forever. I try to pinpoint when I first arrived, but can’t get a handle on it. I have just always been here.
The room is getting tight, space is becoming a premium. There are nearby rooms that regularly intrude. One moment they’re full, cramping my style: the next, they’re empty. I’m squished, but I have learnt to push back against their intrusions successfully.
I realise that if you want something done, you’re better off rolling up your sleeves and doing it yourself. I start by squirming around. Oh, that’s different. But hang on, hey, I think I have turned around, I’m sort of standing on my head. I’m not sure if I like this. I try stretching my legs. Things are changing. What have I started? The tide is going out. I reckon I better skip this evening’s exercise: there’s a new, demanding schedule at hand.
The exit looks ridiculously narrow. You expect me to get down there! Come on, give me a break. I muscle down, head first. The walls are pulsing, rhythmic, urging me down, onwards and something close by is screaming blue-murder; fit to bring the house down. What is going on? A journey has started.
I’m out of puff. I need a breather: this is hard work and these walls are making things tricky. I’ll just take a short break. But things are now out of my control. I have to keep going and I start to squidge forward again. The ruckus is getting louder but I hear another, gentler sound – a quiet, deep, soothing noise. It’s syncopated, against the panting, pushing and moaning that has me moving along.
Then suddenly there is light, and release. I blink and while I don’t know why, I join in the screaming. Somebody is commenting upon my wrinkly skin. Hey, cut it: I’m here, aren’t I? Better late than never!