A Tunnel to Nowhere

Short Story

Something is very off today—I could sense it from the moment I woke up—but this, I never could have anticipated. 

When I arrived here to my own little place in a park most serene, everything seemed normal, almost dreadfully so, leading me to believe the sensation of oddity I had previously felt was a product of my imagination. It isn’t—my eyes definitely aren’t lying to me, that I am certain of; the usually continuous river stream has ceased to flow from the concrete water tunnel, leaving its inside completely visible. Truly, an anomaly unnoticed by all except me. Then again, I can’t say I am particularly surprised by this, as people have an unfortunate tendency to walk by the most awe-inspiring sceneries without noticing a thing, far too caught up in their dreary existences. Though, I can’t blame them either for I had fallen in that trap before and it left me a hollow shell for a little while. Today’s unnoticed anomaly has altered everything for me; my usual little hiding spot in which I regularly disconnect from the overbearing chaos of the world is different. Stranger. Perhaps even alluring. 

Photo by Kévin JINER on Unsplash

I walk to the opening of the concrete tunnel; it emits an air of menace and intrigue, as if the longer your eyes linger on its inside, the more it takes you in. A pungent smell of humidity and fungus floats around me; moss, mushrooms and flowers grow around and inside the tunnel, a phenomenon most peculiar for I saw the tunnel flooded with a violent stream of water and devoid of this greenery no later than yesterday evening. Is it possible for plants to grow this quickly? My eyes keep lingering onto the cold and seemingly infinite tunnel. Without a thought, I step inside; the sound of my boots loudly reverberates through the tunnel. Every single step I take feels like a disturbance to the new world around me; it makes me feel afraid, weary of disturbing the sleeping tunnel; yet due to the sense of wonderment the tunnel has graciously provided me, I continue my walk. A few water puddles remain on the ground, a relic of the tunnel’s past duties contrasting with the greenery that has begun decorating it. Chirps from chickadees take me away from my thoughts; I turn around and see them at the entrance, staring peacefully into the tunnel void, and their enchanting song resounds through the cylindrical concrete. Then, I turn my head back to the tunnel’s cold inside and continue my walk.