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Message-ID: <30000asstr$988045803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: delta@nym.alias.net
Reply-To: delta@nym.alias.net
Subject: {ASSM} "The Darkening" by Delta
Date: Mon, 23 Apr 2001 13:10:03 -0400
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If you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by E-mail at:

   delta @ nym .  alias .  net

   Comments and criticisms are welcome.

   Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character within is
a depiction of any real person, living or dead.  No place or event
described within exists outside of the writer's imagination.  Copyright
retained by the author and this post is for private use of the reader only.
It is not to be published, posted or reposted, in any form whatsoever,
including being made available on BBSs, without the express prior consent
of author.



   Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which they reside
are asked to please pass by.  If you received this story by e-mail, it
wasn't sent by me.

   This is my entry in the "Iron Writers" contest.  The theme is definitely
not one I would have picked.  I hope you enjoy.

   Delta.

   THE DARKENING

   By Delta (c) 2001

   There is the darkness of a moonless night, the darkness of a forest
during a storm and the darkness of a shuttered house.  This was none of
those.  This was the darkness of a mine shaft, where no matter the time,
the eyes never 'adjust' to the darkness for the darkness is complete.

   But it wasn't a mine shaft and it wasn't deep in the bowels of the earth
. . .  and it was in the middle of a cloudless day.

   She lay still, listening intently.  Yes, there it was again.  A sound. A
distant sound.  Carefully she rose to hands and knees and began a slow,
tentative crawl in that direction, feeling forward with each hand in turn
before placing any weight on it.  She had learned that early.  Luckily the
cut was minor and the pain could be ignored.

   A wall.  Left or right?  It didn't really matter.  Either would suffice.
Mentally she flipped a coin.  Left.

   Her knees were scraped and sore and she wondered how she'd gotten
herself into this mess.  Pitch darkness wasn't one of her favourite
ambiances.

   The door was jammed, but open several inches.  A momentary thought was
given to trying to force the door.  It was discarded.  Gently, she probed
outside the door with her arm.  The floor was relatively clear.  She turned
about and sat with her back to the wall.  Even that little distance had
exhausted her.

   The exhaustion was not of a physical nature, but a mental one.  A minute
or two to regroup was what was required.

   A muffled thud came from the other side of the door, somewhere.  She
almost thought she heard a voice, but put it down to imagination.

   "Okay, let's see if we can squeeze through." The sound of her own voice
settled her down.  It was as if there were a second being there in the
darkness.  A friendly one.  She was no longer alone.

   Squeezing through the opening was no mean feat.  "Next life, smaller
breasts," she groaned as those worthies were pressed hard against her
ribcage.  It hurt.  Then suddenly they were through and the rest of the
body followed in a matter of seconds.

   For a moment she hesitated, then crawled off to the right.  If her wits
weren't completely addled, this should be a hallway.  But the darkness was
no less complete there than it had been in the other rooms.

   Without sight; with the only reference her own racing heart, she had no
sense of time.  Had it taken five minutes to negotiate the partially
blocked hallway or had it been an hour?

   "Alas, my love, you do me wrong

   To cast me off discourteously,

   For I have loved you, oh, so long

   Delighting in your company.

   Greensleeves was my delight

   Greensleeves my heart of gold

   Greensleeves was my heart of joy

   And who but my Lady Greensleeves"



   The singer wasn't very good, his voice wavering in places, but it was
another human voice and she sighed in relief.

   "Hello!"

   The singing stopped abruptly.  There was a vast and deep silence and for
a moment she wondered if she had really heard that voice.

   "Hello?  Is someone there?" The hope and despair mixed in that lonely
voice almost brought tears to her eyes.  She started forward again.

   "Yes," she replied, "I'm coming."

   "Thank God."

   "Keep talking so I can find you."

   Buoyed by the knowledge that he wasn't alone, the voice kept up a steady
stream of sound, asking questions which she didn't answer, except to
occasionally reassure him that she was still on the way.

   "Can you come to me at all?"

   "No.  My foot is trapped under a heavy filing cabinet.  I can't get it
off me.  What's your name?"

   She didn't answer.  She was getting close, but the hallway was littered
with debris, some of it broken glass.  She didn't want to be cut again and
all her attention was on carefully testing the floor with her fingers.

   "Okay, you can stop talking now." She was almost there.

   The voice didn't stop.

   "Quiet!  I need to concentrate, blast you." Silence.

   The door to the file room was twisted and broken.  She felt about in the
darkness.  Reaching up, she found the ceiling at about four feet.  A sharp
metal shard was waiting to skewer anyone foolish enough to try to rush in.

   "I don't suppose you have a light?"

   "Keychain light.  Battery's about dead.  Sorry."

   "Try it anyway."

   The small glow the light gave off located him for her, but no details of
anything could be made out.  Still it was the first thing she had been
actually able to see in what seemed like--and might have been--hours.  To
her deprived senses it was a beacon.

   "I'm coming in." The glow disappeared.  Carefully avoiding the skewer,
she slipped into the room.  A minute later she touched his outstretched
hand.

   "Oh, thank God!" He gripped her hand hard, holding it tight.  She
understood how he felt, trapped in the dark, unable to move, unable to even
try to get out, just waiting.  Having to wait, singing to keep up his
spirits, even if he didn't have the voice for it.

   "Okay, you can let go now.  Let me check that trapped foot."

   The filing cabinet was indeed heavy and had caught him so that he
couldn't use his strength to move it.  He just couldn't get any leverage.

   "I'm going to lift.  Get your foot out quick, 'cause I don't think I'll
be able to hold it up for long.  Ready?  One, two, three, now!" She put her
full remaining strength against the weight, moving it only slightly.  An
inch, maybe two, then it was too much and it crashed back onto the floor.

   There was no scream of pain, which was good.  There was, however, a sigh
of relief, which was better.

   "Thank you.  I'm Larry . . ." His voice dropped of, expecting a return
introduction.

   "You are welcome, Larry.  Now, let's get out of this place."

   There was an unwelcome rumble and the ground began to shake.

   "Aftershock!" Larry screamed and pulled her to him, against a wall.  He
was warm and it had been a while since she'd felt human warmth.

   A horrible grinding sound foretold disaster.  Then they were both
coughing as their air filled with dust.  Larry pulled her head close to his
chest and pressed his torn shirt against her face, using it as a makeshift
filter.

   The shaking stopped, the sounds ceased and, finally, the dust settled.
Again it was quiet.  Quiet as a tomb.  She winced.  Bad thought, that.  No,
not all that quiet after all.  There was the sound of his breathing and of
her own.  And her ear, pressed against his chest, heard the rapid thudding
of his heart.

   The sound of their breathing was different now.  She already knew what
she would find, but made the effort regardless.  When she returned she
found him waiting where she'd left him.

   "Trapped?"

   "Trapped." There would be no digging their way to freedom.  Their only
chance was for rescue workers to dig their way in.  It didn't seem likely.
At least not in time.

   There was a long silence.  A muffled sob.

   "What's wrong, Larry?"

   "I . . .  I, I don't want to die."

   She couldn't have him breaking down.  That wasn't in the cards at all.
"You want to live forever?  I'd think after three or four hundred years it
might get a little boring, don't you?  You have to be careful wording your
requests.  What if you were granted eternal life, but your body continued
to age.  So, there you are in a hospital bed, living year after year, but
unable to do anything."

   "I don't want to die . . .  yet." He sounded a little peeved.  That was
better.

   "Ah, my mistake.  That, of course, is different." She paused for a
moment, judging the atmosphere.  It had lightened a bit.  He wasn't so near
the edge as before.  You didn't need sight if you were sensitive.  "So, if
we weren't here, what would you be doing?" She moved a little closer,
shoulders touching, sitting against the wall.  The ceiling scant inches
above their heads, held up by the heavy filing cabinets.

   Larry laughed shortly.  "I'd be at a mud-wrestling match."

   "Mud wrestling?"

   "Yeah.  At Ernie's.  Every second Saturday night.  And you, where would
you . . .  ?  Hey, wait a minute.  What are you doing here, anyway? 
Outside of the guards, the building is supposed to be empty.  You aren't
one of the guards." A short silence.  "Who are you?"

   "Does it matter?  I'm here.  You are not alone."

   "I guess it doesn't.  But I'd like to know what to call you."

   "Then give me a name."

   That seemed to surprise him.  He thought about it for what seemed an
inordinately long time.

   "Elaine.  I've always liked Elaine."

   "I'm Elaine," she agreed complacently.  "Pleased to meet you, Larry."

   "Likewise, I'm sure."

   She tapped him a couple of times on the chest with the back of her
fingers.  He took her proffered hand and shook it solemnly.  He didn't let
it go after the shake.

   "What was that song you were singing?  It was familiar."

   "Greensleeves."

   "Who wrote it?"

   "The words?  King Henry VIII."

   "Ah, of course.  Henry was such a romantic devil.  So, you like to watch
girls wrestling in the mud, Larry?"

   "Um, well, yeah." His grip on her hand tightened.  "I think we're sealed
off."

   "I believe you are right."

   "There isn't that much air in here, Elaine.  What are we going to do?"

   Elaine gave his hand a quick squeeze.  "Well, we have two choices.  One,
we conserve as much as possible.  We don't talk, we try to lower our
breathing rate through meditation or sleep.  We don't move around at all."

   "And hope that someone rescues us in time," he completed for her.  "Or?"

   "Or we make use of the gift of time the gods have given us.  It's your
choice, Larry.  I'll go along with whatever you want."

   Larry fidgeted as he mulled over his choice, but wasn't that always the
way?  The instinct for survival was a strong one, even when that survival
was no longer an option.  The gift of time was so often squandered in order
to increase its length.  Take no risks, be safe, have a life but don't
live. Elaine wondered which way Larry would tilt.

   "I had a dream once where it was all black, but not one of those night
terrors.  It was warm and black and friendly.  I was sorry to wake from
that one." He had decided.  She silently applauded his decision.

   "Maybe it wasn't a dream, but precognition.  After all, it is warm here,
and black and I'm certainly friendly." She gave a little laugh.

   The city had been suffering under a heat wave, baking for the last two
weeks.  It would take some time for the warmth to leave, perhaps all the
time in the world.

   "I wish . . ."

   "You wish what, Larry?"

   "I wish I had been able to make it to that match.  I still have the
tickets in my shirt pocket.  Here, feel them.  Front row seats.  Me and
Graham, a buddy.  Those women who wrestle there are sure hot."

   "At Ernie's."

   "At Ernie's."

   "I was once . . ." she faltered.

   "Once what?" A new interest in his voice.  Probably hoping for something
to take his mind off what was to come.

   "Well, it's kind of embarrassing."

   "Elaine.  I may laugh, but I sure as hell won't see you blush." They
both laughed tentatively.

   "Okay, but if we get out of this, you are not to repeat it to a single
soul, okay?"

   "Deal."

   "I once competed."

   "In mud-wrestling?"

   "Yes.  A bit of a grudge match."

   "Don't stop there, tell me about it."

   A long pause.  "Okay, but you have to . . ."

   "I promise.  Not a soul."

   "Very well.  Then close your eyes and picture this . . ."

   "It doesn't get any darker with my eyes closed."

   "True.  But that's how we imagine.  Just do it.  Eyes closed?"

   "Eyes closed," he confirmed.

   "Sarah and I didn't get along from the first time we met.  Maybe it was
because we were similar, maybe it was because we were different.  It didn't
matter.  Just being in the same room caused my hackles to rise and I'm sure
it was the same with her.  But we were taking the same course, moving with
the same crowd and . . .  and after the same man.

   "Perhaps that last was the straw which broke the camel's back.  But only
perhaps.  See, the guy wasn't really interested in either of us, which
naturally increased our desire to get him and flaunt him in the other's
face.

   "I don't remember the sequence of events which propelled our conflict
from the catty remarks or the evil schemes to the physical, but one day it
happened that a place--very much like your 'Ernie's'--decided to put on a
mud-wrestling show.  Good for business.  The local studs drinking down
their suds and the women in cut-off t-shirts--specially weakened--putting
on a show.

   "The winner of the competition was to get a very nice prize, but that
wasn't what interested Sarah or me.  No, we both wanted to get our hands on
the other and make her pay for slights real and imagined.  Of course, it
wasn't us who thought it up.  No, of course not.  It was one of the boys we
went with.  'You guys seem to want to fight, so why not in the pit?' he
said.

   "With the rest of our crowd pushing us, there was no backing down. 
Besides, I really wanted a piece of her.  Neither of us was interested in
fighting anyone else, but that was okay with the promoter.  A couple of
grudge matches would go over well with the audience.  And I suspect that he
suspected that a couple of women in a grudge match would be more liable to
remove each other's garments."

   "Was he right?" Larry wanted to know.  She had his attention.

   "Definitely.  In the four grudge fights, all the women lost at least
their tops.  In all the others put together, maybe four tops were lost. 
The grudge fights turned out to be the biggest draws."

   "So you lost your top?"

   "Patience, Larry, patience." She picked up his hand in hers.  "But I
think that you can rest assured that what covered these," she ran his hand
over her breasts, "was a target too convenient for Sarah to ignore." That
definitely got his attention.  She could feel it.

   "Look, Larry, it's a long story and I think we should try to get a
little more comfortable."

   Rummaging around in the dark they found his gym bag and pulled out the
towel, filled it with crumpled paper from files which had no more meaning
to either of them, and set it against a corner.  The towel was folded and
served as a cushion.  She had Larry on it, back against the bag, and spread
his legs.  She sat between them and leaned back against his chest.  His
arms came around her and held her close.

   "Much better.  Now, where were we?"

   "Targets," Larry laughed quietly in her ear, and moved one hand up to
rub over her breasts before returning back lower.  He was growing bolder.

   "Ah, yes." Elaine laughed, too.  "I, of course, was pure and had no such
thoughts in mind."

   "Oh, I'll bet."

   "Okay, maybe one or two small thoughts.  Anyway, with our peers pushing
us, and both of us wanting to show up the other, the promoter
willing--provided we signed releases--there was no way that this wasn't
going to happen.

   "We were the third of four grudge matches and the place was crowded. 
They'd seen what happened in the earlier grudge fights, and this one was
being billed as the grudge of the century.  They weren't that far wrong.

   "The pit wasn't all that big, but it was full of mud.  Only a little
over ankle deep, but slippery as could be.  Beside the pit there was a
small platform on which the contestants could stand and be washed off with
a hose, after each bout.  Of course, that was another part of the
spectacle, for by the time some of the contestants got there, t-shirts were
ripped or gone, impossibly lost in the muck.  The owner wasn't allowing the
women to track mud through to the changing rooms, so it could be, shall we
say, a titillating sight for the men--and maybe some of the women, too.

   "Finally it was our turn.  Sarah was big and strong, and mean.  She had
long black hair and grey-green eyes.  Taller than me by about 5 inches and
bigger . . .  yeah, there.  Let's just say that she generated a lot of
cheers when she stepped into the pit.

   "I didn't do too badly either, but it was easy to see that she was the
crowd favourite."

   "What colour are *your* eyes?  hair?"

   "Doesn't matter, honey.  You want to know what I look like, use your
hands.  Don't be shy.  Ah, that feels nice.  I stepped into the pit on the
other side and judged the footing.  As I said, slippery.  No way either of
us would be on her feet long.  There were spotlights lighting up the pit
and men on all sides cheering us on.  Some women, too, but not all that
many.

   "The promoter introduced us and from the way we simply glared at each
other the crowd could tell that it was going to be a good one.  They moved
in even closer, risking mud splashes.  Sarah held up her hand and slowly
the crowd quieted.  She looked straight into my eyes then shouted out her
challenge.

   "'No holds barred!?'"

   "'No holds barred,' I snarled back.  The crowd went wild and the owner
got a little misty-eyed as the serving girls took order after order. 
Watching under the hot lights was thirsty business I guess.

   "Sarah and I paid them no mind.  We were in this for keeps.  She held
out a hand and I moved to meet her.  Fingers entwined and then our other
hands met and grasped.  It was a contest of strength and right away I
realized I'd been a fool to accept.  She was stronger than I by a fair
deal. My arms were being forced down, wrists bent backwards.  There was a
feral grin on her face, telling me that unless I did something real quick,
I'd end up regretting it for a long time.

   "We were both going to go down anyway, eventually, so I allowed myself
to fall back, twisting as I went, and kicked out her right foot.  We both
went sideways into the mud and the crowd screamed its delight.

   "Knowing what I was doing gave me the immediate advantage and I was
first back on my knees.  I grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled her up,
head bent backwards.  Later my friends told me I was growling, but I don't
remember any of that.  I threw her face first into the muck and she came up
gasping for breath and wild with anger.  I don't think Sarah ever believed
that I would stand any sort of chance, and on dry ground I probably
wouldn't have.  But here it was slippery and I was less out of my element
than she.  She was muddy all over and mad pure through.

   "She wiped off her face and came for me on her knees--there was no sense
trying to stand up again.  I tried to slip out of the way, but she caught
me by the front of my t-shirt, pulled me forward and I fell across her
thighs as she twisted sideways.  She was sitting on her heels and there I
was, unable to get any purchase with my hands on the bottom of the pit. 
Every time I tried to lift myself up, she'd push hard on the middle of my
back and my arms would go shooting out, leaving my face in the mud until I
could get my forearms back under me and raise myself up a bit.

   "I guess my ass was high in the air--relatively speaking.  The crowd
started to yell, 'Spank, spank, spank!' and I knew that she would oblige.

   "The crowd silenced as she raised her hand and I was just preparing
myself for what was to come when her hand met my ass for the first time.  I
shrieked, much to the glee of the crowd.  Her hand was wet, as was my ass,
and it stung.  She got in five or six more licks before my desperate
struggles saw me squirm free.

   "Now *I* was furious, but she had the upper hand and she was on top of
me in a flash, pinning me down.  'I'm just starting,' she snarled in my ear
as her hands came under me--yes just like yours are, Larry--and began to
tear at the front of my shirt.

   "I could feel it begin to rip--you can undo the buttons--and I fought
like mad to get out from under her.  It was to no avail and the shirt
became more like a vest, open in front.

   "Sarah pulled me back up until we were sitting much as you and I are
now, with her arms circling me just under my breasts, pinning mine to my
sides.  My tits--you like that word?-- were pushed up.

   "'Hose,' she called out and some bastard got the hose and sent a stream
of water over my tits, baring them everyone's sight.  The crowd erupted in
cheers.  My nipples, which she'd managed to pinch a bit when we were down,
were hard and pointy, just like now.

   "Ooh.  I should have known better than to wear a bra with a front snap.
You are naughty, Larry . . .  I like it.  Yes, you feel how hard they are?
Well, with the cold water from the hose, they were just like that.  But she
wasn't finished with me yet, as I can see you aren't either.  And her hands
were doing much what yours are, and that was her mistake.  I rolled
suddenly and got away.

   "'Now for the bottoms,' Sarah called out and the crowd yelled its
approval and encouragement.  Her voice was husky and I realized she was
getting off on the power rush.  Me, I was frantic to just get out of there,
was trying desperately to get to my feet and out of the pit when her hand
caught my shoulder and pulled me backwards.  I fell.

   "It was luck, pure luck.  I admit it.  As I fell my elbow rammed
straight into her solar-plexus.  The breath went out of her with a whoosh
and she was helpless.  I'd been hit in the solar-plexus once and I knew
what it was like.  I'd have a minute, not much more, before she got her
breath back.  I used my minute well.

   "Quickly I pulled off what was left of my shirt and the crowd cheered
again.  Sarah was sitting on her heels, doubled over, holding herself.  She
had no strength left for the moment.  I pulled both of her arms out and
behind her, placing them in a double armlock and tied her forearms together
with my shirt.  Then I pulled her feet apart so her ass came down between
them.

   "She was still doubled over, but I was going to change that, real soon.
I grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled.  It took a bit, but she
straightened up then came back down.  Her feet were splayed out to the
sides of her hips and she was being slowly lowered onto her back in the
mud. If she had any idea of how helpless she was going to be, she would
have made more of an effort to resist.  Poor Sarah.  Finally her head was
almost touching the mud.

   "I think that was when she realized what was happening and began to get
her breath back and struggle, but it was too late for her.  I let her fall
back on her tied arms and straddled her, my ass on her hips, trapping her
legs.  She was a very flexible woman--which I knew, or I'd never have done
that--but now quite helpless.

   "'Shirt, shirt, shirt!' the crowd chanted and there was no way I was
going to deny them.  I tore and freed her poor trapped breasts.  I looked
down into her eyes, gloating.  'Hose,' I called out and a stream of cold
water washed them clean.  I rolled her nipples between my fingers.  'Just
starting,' I told her.  She groaned.

   "Very quickly, before she had a chance to react, I turned about, so I
now had my back to her head.  Ringside was one of our crowd, Doug, who
always carried a pocketknife.  I held up my hand and the crowd quieted in
expectation.  'Knife,' I called to Doug.  He raised an eyebrow, questioning
my resolve.  My resolve had never been firmer and he shrugged, tossing the
knife to me.  I opened it and a hush came over the place.

   "I could see the owner nervously begin to get to his feet, ready to
intervene, so I flashed him a wicked smile.  He returned my smile and sat
back down.  He was going to enjoy this.  I could see visions of a regular
mud-wrestling day on his calendar pass through his head.  Those days would
see capacity crowds in his joint.

   "With a great show of intent I raised the opened knife high, so Sarah
could see it from behind.  She groaned, but was too proud to beg for mercy.
Then I lowered it slowly to her bottoms and made one cut at each hip.

   "Hmmm.  I see you are interested in *my* bottoms.  That snap sure came
undone easily.  Yes, the zipper.  Okay, let me raise my hips and you push
them down.  Yeah.  I see you have the idea.

   "I pulled on the front of her bottoms and they came sliding up and free.
The crowd went wild once more, but calmed as I raised my hand again--after
tossing the knife back to Doug.  With as much gloat as I could put into my
voice I called out, 'Hose.'

   A stream of water washed away any trace of mud from her privates.  It
was cold and she began to buck, but couldn't unseat me.  'Enough,' I
ordered and the stream stopped.  My finger went down, just as yours is and
I began making little circles.  She had been hot earlier and I made a bet
with myself just how long she'd last.

   "Yes, I rubbed her just like that . . .  oh, yes . . .  you've got the
touch, my man.  And--oh my--I kept it up 'til she was bucking again, but
this time it was her body betraying her.  Umph!  The crowd silenced,
expectant, wanting to hear her every moan.

   "I think that was what woke her up.  Finally she spoke.  'Please.' It
was music to my ears, but there was no mercy in me.  'Please,' once more. I
redoubled my efforts, riding her . . .  oh, geez . . .  her bucking body
until . . .  oh, oh, oh, until she . . .  ah, faster . . .  until she . . .
oh, yes, yes, YES!

   "Whew!  And the crowd cheered!  You *are* good!  And I can feel that you
aren't done yet.  Just lie back and I'll turn around.  Yes, that's it."

   "It's getting harder to breathe in here, isn't it."

   "Don't worry about that.  Just worry about enjoying yourself."

   "How did you do with the hosing off?" Larry asked, his mind still on the
bout.

   "Better than Sarah did.  After that, she had no dignity left to stand
on. I wouldn't untie her arms 'til after we were in the dressing room.  She
couldn't cover a thing.  Can you tell I'm smiling by the sound of my voice?
Just recalling it gives me pleasure.  That's what life is for, you know,
making memories.

   You know, we could have done the safe thing and just hated each other
from afar, but we didn't.  We risked.  And something special came of that
risk.  Mmmm.  Enjoying yourself?"

   "Oh, you're so warm.  Yes, ride me like you rode Sarah."

   "Ah, this is so much better.  I'm not into that girl-girl stuff.  As
revenge it was nice--at the moment.  Later, though, I have to tell you, we
became good friends.  We still work together.  Actually, she's my boss now.
No hard feelings.  We still laugh about it occasionally.  Wouldn't have
happened if we hadn't taken the chance to *live*.  Now, never mind her,
just concentrate on me and you."

   He was getting closer.  She could feel it and adjusted her rhythm to
increase his pleasure, getting close herself.  She could hear his gasps,
only partially due to his exertions.

   "Oh, God, yes!  I'm coming!" He bucked up into her and she stopped
holding back.  "Me, too!" She collapsed on him.

   His hands reached up and felt her face.  His panting went on and on. 
"You . . .  you . . .  won't . . .  leave . . .  me?"

   Did he know?  Did he understand?  Some did.  "No, Larry, I won't leave
you.  I'll hold you 'til the end."

   His hand moved to his shirt pocket.  "Tickets." A long pause.  "I had .
. .  tickets.  But you . . .  your voice . . .I saw it all, Elaine.  Saw it
all." He was fighting for breath.  "Better . . .  better than . . .  than
being there."

   With a terrible grinding crash the huge shovel picked up and moved the
massive concrete block.

   "Hold on!  Here's another one."

   The rescue worker moved into the hole, followed by his partner.  The dog
whined nearby.

   "He's gone," the call came up from the hole.

   Down below, his flashlight's beam visible in the stirred dust, one of
the rescue workers caught sight of the man's extended hand.  "What's that
he's got there?"

   The other man crawled over to look.  "Tickets.  Tickets for a
mud-wrestling match.  Strange thing to hold onto at the end."

   "Let's get him out of here.  Anyone else?"

   "No.  No one."

   * * * * *

   "That was a nice story, 'Elaine'.  But we never wrestled in the mud--not
though I wouldn't have found it fun.  Not that you could take me."
Laughter.

   "I can take you anytime, 'Sarah', just come down with me and we'll see."
More laughter.  "Well, it *was* his last wish, after all."

   "Yes, strange last wish.  Still, you did well, very well.  As usual."

   "I don't like the sound of that.  You're setting me up for something."

   "I've got another one for you."

   "So soon?  Where this time?"

   "Coal mine collapsed."

   "Please tell me that the lights are still working."

   "Sorry."

   "You know how I *hate* being in the pitch black!"

   "I know.  But you are *so* good at it.  Better hurry."

   "This is just you getting revenge for having lost the mud-wrestling
bout. You know it and I know it.  Just make sure you get me closer than
last time.  I hate the dark."

   The laughter echoed long after she was gone.

   End of "The Darkening" by Delta (c)2001 delta @ nym .  alias .  net

   My Stories can be accessed at asstr-mirror.org in the author's section.  Your
support of asstr-mirror.org is appreciated.  See site for details.

   

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