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The Boiler Room

Emily Manno

    Rick’s mind was abuzz with emotions. Fear, anger, alarm and dread seemed to be at the top, feeding away at his mind with what ifs and possible outcomes of the dilemma he was in. He was surrounded by complete and total darkness, slowly suffocating him. His own ragged breathing and the heavy, hurried footsteps from above were the only things he could hear.
    Thump, thump, thump, thump...
    He was on his knees and sweating profusely with his hands before him cuffed to an electrical box. From a different angle it might have looked like he was praying. His wrists were blistered and raw from the tightness of the cuffs and duct tape was wrapped clumsily around his head like tinsel on a Christmas tree, zigzagging over his eyes and mouth.
    Sweat leaked out of every pore in his body. His sense of timing was off. It could have been minutes or hours or days since he had been thrust into the humid room.
    He had trained himself to stop attempting to open his eyes. What little he had for eye lashes would stick to the tape, making his eyes stay wide open and water at the very close sight of silver. They would stay like this for several minutes until he could successfully blink again and keep himself in darkness. He was sure he would stay like this forever. No one ever came down to the boiler room in an art museum.
    The tape pulled the whiskers on his face painfully with any movement he made. Drool poured out of his mouth in an attempt to soothe his chapped lips that were stuck in a kiss to the tape. The tape around his tired mouth began to loosen from the wet stickiness.

Hope jumped from his stomach to his throat. If he could get his mouth out from under the tape he could call for help! He stretched his jaw as far as it would go, trying to get his mouth open. The tape stretched slightly but was too thick and clung onto the little hairs on the corner of his mouth and the sensitive bit of skin between his nose and upper lip. From under the blindfold of glue, his eyes watered and a groan tore throughout his body, muffled by the inability to let it out through his mouth.
    A warm wetness spread down his leg like a long lasting lick from a large dog. He could smell the unmistakable stench of ammonia as it crept further and further. The stink resonated in his nose and slowly slid to the back of his throat. His blinded eyes squeezed shut as it unsettled something within him, and his earlier dinner of tuna casserole rocketed from his stomach in an acidy form to his mouth. He jerked his head violently despite the protest of every stinging pore on his face as the vomit flew forcibly through his nose and recoiled back down to his stomach.
    Small particles of vomit dangled from Rick’s nose. He blew through his nose desperately trying to get it off, not wanting to stand another smell upsetting him. He could still taste it.
    A whimper trembled throughout his body.
    Tears sprouted from the corners of his eyes when the heavy footsteps he had grown accustomed to had faded, and slowly stopped altogether. Had they left? Was he being rescued? Had anyone heard him?
    His breath caught in his throat, his ears strained to hear the thud thud thud thud of someone walking above him...
    Nothing.
    Dying in the boiler room sounded like a better fate than dealing with the consequences of his foolish actions. He would have to live with this forever. He certainly would never get hired anywhere ever again.
    He remained completely still. And waited...
    And waited...
    And waited...

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