66days

66 DAYS

an ongoing novella, regularly updated

Day 1

She stood at the entrance. Seeing as there was no longer technically an entrance though, she thought a more appropriate term might be 'the beginning.' What had been the entrance was now sealed, lost, fogotten, irrelevant. It had no particular influence on where she would end up or how she would get out. For all she knew in a matter of hours this could become the 'exit' or 'end.'

She decided not to linger too closely to such technicalities. They would only hold her up. The time in front of her was certainly not going to be affected by such thoughts. It was simply time. Really, it would not be so much about cunning, wit, or memory, but more about mental stamina <maintaining a stable disposition> and perseverence. Luckily those were things she'd prided herself on. Some believed these characteristics in her to be too compliant, submissive.

Four steps forward.

The beginning.

It was more exciting than she expected. Truly there was little to see yet. Corners leading to corners leading to corners. Rough stone walls, maybe 10, 12 feet high. They looked slightly damp, with traces of moss appearing in some of the cracks. Did it rain here? There was so much to be discovered. She continued to walk, turning left, left, right.

For today, she thought, I'll just walk. Intuitively. Forward.

Consumed in the sensory experience of such a new environment, she thought very little beyond finding descriptors. It was comfortably warm, there were clouds, but it was not cloudy. By that time in the day, the height of the walls prevented direct sunlight to hit the ground, though it remained on her shoulders. The ground was primarily beaten down sod, but occasionally old stone showed through the surface. Of course. You could not dig your way out. That was the idea.

She walked.

Sometimes a corner would appear right after another, and she would turn. Other times she would start forward and barely be able to see where the path ended, the inevitable wall directly ahead. No soft corners. No curves. For that, she was rather thankful, although she wasn't particularly bothering to understand her directional placement. It just seemed like it would be disorienting otherwise.

Forward, backward, left, right. Those were the options.

Simple.

She liked systems and patterns. As did most humans though she supposed. As did all nature then for that matter. That was biology. That was existence.

Oh, she thought, maybe that's too philosophical for the beginning. I've got to take it slow.

The first hours.

She was surprised at how tired she was becoming. The sun no longer stroked her skin. There was maybe only another foot of light at the top of the wall. It was very quiet.

Then it was dark.

She'd reached a dead end some 30 minutes before and had simply stood there staring. Go on? Stay the night? There was something safe feeling about a dead end. One way in one way out. Like a cat in a box. She sat with her back against the wall. It was far from comfortable. She looked down at her body, examining if there were any redundant<excessive> articles of clothing she could remove to form a pillow with. Her clothing was all she had with her apart from some bits of jewelry that never came off. She'd been conservative: long light-gray trousers, a white tank top, a loose black tunic with a long slit up the back, a black angora sweater tied around her waist, and small leather slip on shoes. So far, the night was not particularly colder than the day had been. She undid her sweater and balled it up under her head, slid her body down so that her back was still pressed tightly against the wall, and closed her eyes.

Day 2

Her eyes sparkled as they took in the bold morning light, then tightened shut again. By habit, she wondered what time it was. How long had she slept? Not to say it had been straight through. There had been many restless moments, barely conscious, adjusting her sweater, curling towards the wall, stretching her legs out dramatically and pulling them back in. She hoped other areas had a softer ground, or maybe some foliage that could give slightly more cushion for the nights to come. She was a 'good sleeper' but this was rough. So primitive, she thought.

Despite feeling unsatisfied with her current physical and mental condition she reasoned she could get little more sleep with this light. Another day had begun. It was time to walk.

She moved away from the protective walls of the dead end and was presented with a choice. Right or left. She'd had to have come from one of those directions, and therefore should choose the other. Which was it? It seemed like she should be able to recall. Maybe she'd recognize some small detail if she began retracing her steps, no? No. It had been dusk and all she could remember was standing in front of the wall wondering if it was time to retire yet.

Then again, even if she were to continue back in the same direction, it was nearly impossible that she would continue to follow the exact path she'd taken before. Reason and statistics dictated against it, so she chose to go left. Maybe, she thought, this time she would say the direction in her mind upon each turn. Log it away subconsciously. Here she was though thinking about doing exactly what she'd warned herself against already. This was not some test against logic or memory. Without some sort of actual comprehension of the space she was in or the time in which she would be existing there, whether or not it remained static start to finish, day to night....no, such mental endeavors would only serve as tools of entertainment.

Entertainment was important though.

Left again. Right. Right. Forward.

Foward.

Forward.

Indeed. Keep the mind active. Exist in the present.

She noted that today was slightly warmer. Maybe it was because she'd entered later in the afternoon the day before. This was her first full day. How strange.

Clouds again. Wispy white brushes across a cerulian sky. Moving with her breath. Exhales. A reminder of the world beyond. These walls weren't everything. They weren't everywhere. Those clouds would pass over other land, other people too. Indifferent messengers of other worlds.

She took breaks. Sitting or lying in the middle of her path. She could not guess how many miles she'd walked when the light vanished from her body and darkness once again consumed her world.

There had been no dead ends today. Despite feeling exposed, she had grown enboldened after her first full day. She choose a spot mid-wall and again, lying down holding her sweater beneath her head, went to sleep.

Day 3

Her sleep had been fairly poor once again. It was possible she ached slightly less. The trick was definitely to switch between sides since the ground was so hard, space out the trauma. She stretched and bent letting herself slowly gain awareness of the day ahead.

There was little to no hesitation on which way to start that morning. Her head had been facing 'forward' when she'd gone to sleep. So forward she went.

Her eyes scanned the walls as she walked. So far they had been pretty consistent. Some kind of porous gray stone chiseled into blocks and stacked tightly. They must be at least a foot thick, just enough to prevent serious damage or penetration. There was more of the moss she had noticed early on, some walls more than others, and definitely more where the wall met the floor. Ocasionally in the mortor she would notice an extra display of little pebbles worked in like decorative borders. Considering the miles and miles or wall that must be here, she appreciated such a precious touch.

She let her wind wander to the masons behind this work. Obviously it was very old. Probably quarried from somewhere near. Carried in carts? How else I suppose, she thought. Giants? Slaves? Magic? She wondered if they'd started from the center and built outward. Was there one master plan? Some kind of consistent scheme? Or else possibly in quadrants. It seemed like having diverse starting points would be more interesting. Maybe each designed by a different architect, melding into each other, tying together various theories. She wondered if any builders had ever gotten lost in there themselves. She assumed at some stage there must have been a comprehensive map.

Right.

Forward.

She wondered how 'far in' she was. It was unlikely now that any of the walls she passed were actually exterior ones, the turns had been too close together. By most standards, she would be considered lost now. Were lost and aimless the same though? There was no real reason to return from where she came considering the opening had closed, and it was entirely possible the 'end' was less of an opening and more of a state of mind. Hahaha, she thought. It sounded ridiculous, but she knew it was true. That was part of what had interested her to begin with. She wouldn't necessarily have called herself a 'willing' participant, but it was like comparing the idea of choosing a seemingly never ending prison cell and one whose six walls were all too real. She found this to be far more favorable.

Ouch.

She stepped on a rather sharp pebble. It hurt through her soft leather shoes. She stopped a moment to reel in the pain. She should watch where she's going. She should pay more attention to details. She should be logging the experience. Relishing the variation and subtleties.

Casually she lay her body down in the middle of the path, making sure to avoid the pebble.

The subtleties. Stone on skin. Breathing.

She got up and began to walk.

Forward. Forward. Forward.

Until night.

And even then, she walked a little longer, her fingertips trailing the wall, a slight glow of moonlight encouraging her steps.

Then she untied her sweater, curled it up, lay down, and fell asleep.

Day 4

She'd dreamed about a beach. Lapping waves, endless blue, small sparkling pink grains of sand. Everything in the dream was so soft. She remembered she was alone there. Maybe it had been an island. She remembered dolphins off the shore.

It was nothing like the hard gray world she now lived in. Everything in this world was controlled, touched. It was cracking around the corners perhaps, but it was so....constructed. It was a symbol of man's creation. A construction that never ends and that dominates all of its surroundings. That is ever-present. A symbol of genius and madness.

She wondered if she would learn to love it or become filled with hate towards it. In a way, she considered that it was her home now. She lived within its walls. Maybe she could learn to get to know it, to understand it. She'd rather that than feel constantly a foreigner. It wasn't attacking her. It wasn't hostile.

She walked.

Right.

Her calf muscles were feeling a bit soar. She had never walked so much in her life. Occasionally she would stop and stretch. There was time. A little warm up! She would bend at the waist reaching towards her toes. Opposite arm to opposite leg, pulling her torso in a twist. Rolling her head. Curving her back. So far she'd done a little everyday, counting down each movement. It was nice to have some self directed structure. If she were to maintain her composure, finding ways to break down the day would be helpful. Finding little things to look forward to.

She'd begun making up her own hours. Without a watch, she could only guess based on the sun's movements. This she watched as it moved up and along the wall. During many of her breaks she had counted the stone up the wall. Each wall was vaguely 20 stones tall. OK. She guessed that after noon, the sun on the western walls moved at about four stones an hour giving her about five hours left in her day before it started to get dark. She guessed the sun didn't actually set till maybe an hour or two later, but considering the height of the walls and the narrow corridors, that light no longer impacted her.

She was beginning to feel herself yearn for stimulation. At the moment though she was unmotivated and decided instead to lie down early, give her body a break. She lay against the wall, closing her eyes. She thought about the dream. She thought about dolphins. She thought about her body, submerged in water.

Day 5

She woke up many times during the long night. Her eyes were heavy and burnt feeling. She kept them closed and allowed her mind to continue swirling around her, filled with the preposterous thoughts of exhaustion. It was almost like hallucinating, but the thoughts were real. They played with her emotions as she lay silently. She went in and out of this state for many hours until the light finally ushered her into full coherence. She felt persecuted, victimized, by her mind. It was embarrassing.

There was no one there though.
No one to see, no one to explain to or apologize to.

She stood.
She walked.

The day felt different. She was a different person from the night before. Fully in control of her mind, her movements. She was trying though. Trying to stay engaged with reality. She looked towards the sky. It was still there. Still fairly clear. The weather had been very consistent. It was nice. She didn't suppose she could be prepared for anything colder. That was a thought. What would she do if it were to change?

She looked around. There was moss. Maybe it could work as an insulating fiber? Should she start collecting it? Or would it always be available?
Would there be distinguishable seasons? Would it rain?
Everything was a question.
There was no one there though to answer any of them.
It was all there for her to learn.
Such a strange sensation.
She was alone.

Forward.

She turned left.

She was watching the ground now.
She stopped.

On the ground to her right was the first foreign object she had encountered. The first 'thing' totally detached and autonomous from the environment. It was a stick. Maybe three feet long, lying at a 45 degree angle from the wall. It appeared stripped of bark and smooth. The sun seemed to have bleached it so that it was almost white. She knelt to pick it up.

A walking stick! she thought. Such an obvious remnant from some other human, some other time. It sent shivers down her shoulders and through her spine. It was almost like being watched. Did someone want her to have this? Well, she continued to think, it was hers now. It felt good to hold something so smooth. Such a find began to improve her mood. The littlest thing and yet it gave her hope. It didn't seem dark. There was no body, no skeleton, no message, just the stick. One journey had ended and hers had begun.

As she continued to walk she tapped the stick in little rhythms, playing around. She dragged it along the stones. It amused her.

When she decided to lay down that evening, she was truly pleased. She held the stick in her arms as though it were a companion. So far, it was the only other independent thing in here. They were in this together now.

Day 6

When she awoke the stick was no longer in her hand. Her grip had loosened in the night and it had rolled down her fingers onto the ground and now sat four inches away. She'd nearly forgotten about it. Good morning, she thought. She sat up, back against the wall and grabbed back on to her stick. She stared out at the wall directly across from her. Her mind was enraptured with recollecting her dreams that night: a young woman with an eagle in a cave. She'd captured it with a lure and net although the woman seemed so slight and the eagle massive, muscular, gold. It was a very romantic vision. She thought about how holding such a beast must make you feel so powerful. She'd also had a dream about being in a slowly flooding house. The sensation of water rising up around her ankles.

She realized she'd been sitting for quite some time when she decided to get up again. Maybe today there would be more things to find. It gave her a new sense of optimism and expectation. There was validation now to the fact that people had once been here before her. Besides the builders, other humans had tread these exact paths, searching for a way out, searching for ways to maintain sanity.

How would she maintain?

She counted backwards. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Today was the sixth day. She had found the stick on the fifth. It could work as a marker in time. 'Pre-stick' and 'post-stick.' Hah. If she found a sharp enough stone she could start carving markers into the wood. Was it worth it though? She wondered in the structure would help her or whether it was just as well to become lost in time. She imagined prisoners in their cells whittling at the stone walls oppressing them. Her situation was much like theirs really, she decided to take note began looking for a possible tool.

Her walking was very sporadic that day. Her mission was very definite and consuming. The stone should be small and light to fit in her pocket, perhaps like an arrowhead would be nice. Smooth and flat, but coming to a point. The little decorative rocks she'd noticed here and there seemed like a good size for such an object. There had also been areas where she'd noticed where the tops of walls had slightly crumbled and made little piles at the base. How had indigenous people made arrowheads? If memory served her right they were flint, a very soft rock. Everything here seemed so hard. It was meant to be.

Oh! She exclaimed.
Where her hand had been running against the wall, it had jiggled something. Indeed a small stone fell out upon further prying. She knelt to pick it up. Too small, she immediately thought. Nevertheless she was intrigued and rolled it around in her palm, squeezing it once or twice. She put it in her pocket, but decided to keep looking.

As the hours went on that day, her attention went in and out of the mission at hand. She now had four stones in her pocket, but none was entirely what she had imagined. She was sure at least one was pointed enough to carve into the wood, but she would keep looking.

Right.

Left.

Right.

After turning right, she decided that would be the last stretch of the day. This particular passage seemed to stretch quite far and she preferred starting with fresh choices in the morning. It was more stimulating that way.

She dragged the stick behind her marking a snake like line along the dusty parts of the path. It curved side to side.

Coming to the crossroad, she sat, and in the dimming light pulled the stones from her pockets and laid them in a circle on the ground. With enough, she thought, I could make a game for myself. Though what game should could play as only one person she couldn't come up with. Maybe she could make one? Her mind toyed with variations of lines and stones and puzzles. She curled up on the ground reaching her hand out to rest upon the stick, her closed eyes lined up with the stone circle.

Day 7

The stones once gently places in front of her the night before were now scattered loosely. She realized she must have rolled or pushed them with her arm in her sleep. She felt fully awake that morning and taking each rock up into her hand, decided to let them choose her path that day.

Facing the wall directly in front of her the joined the path to her left and right she tossed a stone. It hit the wall and bounced towards her right. Best two out of three, she thought. She threw another. Right. Well then, that's it. She collected the stones as well as her stick and sweater and began walking.

She decided to repeat her game with the stones at every intersection. It was genuine randomization, which she liked. She never trusted her own mind. People were so controlled by their subconscious, everything was a pattern. She also enjoyed the ritual, the clinking as the rocks hit the wall.

As she continued that day, she remembered to keep looking for loose stones. She imagined that twelve would be a nice number to keep, or nine. More would be excessive, but less was simply not as satisfying seeming. She wanted them to feel disposable but not burdensome. Although, it did cross her mind that if she had enough she could leave a trail or markers. She'd wondered the likelihood of traversing the same path. Everything was so homogenous and blurred in her memory. Most of the time she was barely conscious of her actual surroundings, there was no need to be. Of course, what did it matter if she was going in circles? The idea was unpleasant though. She didn't like the feeling of being tricked by such an illusion; walking for miles and miles day after day only the be in the same place the whole time. Why bother walking at all for that matter? She supposed it helped her maintain sanity and prevent lethargy, but still…

Midday she came upon a little rubble pile. There was a good fifteen stones of varying sizes. Well, she thought, I'll save a few and make a marker with the rest. Using eight stones, she carefully placed them in the shape of a diamond in the middle of the path. While it was not terribly obvious, they were lighter enough than the ground that she felt sure she'd notice them if passed again. She would certainly notice were she to step on one.

Now she had eleven stones in her pocket.

Tapping her stick she walked on.

The light moved up the walls, the hours dwindled.

The stones directed left. Left.

Forward.

She turned a corner to the right.

Passing her stick along the wall, she managed to pop out a couple more small rocks. One was particularly pointed this time. Holding her face close she pressed the sharp end into her stick carving downward. It was getting more difficult to see but the stone definitely made a deep impression. Success.

The sun's reach had long left the turning walls. Feeling her day more than complete she stayed exactly where she was. Sitting down she tossed a few stones back and forth between hands. It was almost juggling, something she'd only briefly attempted as a child. She supposed she could get quite good if she really tried.

She looked outward into the dark, eyelids drooping. Her body sunk into itself and she fell asleep.

Day 8

Another day, another day, another day. Sun again. Light blue skies. Moderate temperature.

A week had gone by since she first arrived within these walls. It was a significant marker in time. She started that morning by carving the other six lines in her stick. Seven days, seven lines, who knows how many to come. It frightened her to think of getting to the point where there would be no more room for lines.

She generally felt ok. Her body had gotten over much of the original soreness from walking. She took things a little easier on herself already. She took breaks, she stretched, she sat, she massaged her toes, she lay in the sun. Nothing was pressing too deeply on her mind. She missed things. There was very little stimulation beyond what her own imagination could dig up. She was actually very impressed reflecting on how much had passed through her mind. Hours and hours and hours of thoughts. Its not like her mind ever shut off, it was constantly processing, thinking, even though there was next to nothing to instigate new concepts or topics. It was almost more like she was watching thoughts spin around and pass through. There was always something there, but often it had very little weight.

She vaguely wished she could see what she looked like. Her bodily functions had entered some kind of stasis on the first day, something to do with the parameters of the environment. It made it easy to forget about her physical self. Early in the day when the light was direct enough she could see small details in her shadow, down to the frizz in her hair. It was a comforting reminder that she was real still.

She held her face in her hands. With the tips of her fingers she rolled her eyelids back and stuck out her tongue. She stuck her hands up under her shirt and loosely cupped her breasts. Her fingers were cold. She twisted and pulled her nipples.

Another day, another day, another day.

Another day began.

She walked.

She moved in a straight line, right down the middle.

Left.

Right.

Forward.

Right.

She jogged a little; let herself get slightly out of breath.

Forward.

She jogged more, awkwardly holding her stick in its center so as not to drag it.

As she slowed down, tears started to form in the corners of her eyes. She was breathing hard. She gasped a little and her eyes became inflamed and wet, rapidly producing tears. She stopped and backed up against the sun soaked wall.

She cried.

Forward.

Darkness.

Night.

Sleep.