Asphodel (The Underworld Trilogy)

Nothing happens.

Mom exhales and relief washes over her features. “Oh right,” she gasps. “It’s after midnight.” She pulls me to her chest and places a kiss on the top of my forehead. “Thank the God’s.” I step away from the embrace and mom tilts her head motioning to the house. “Come on. It’s late and you have school today.”

“Are you really going to make me go to school?” I shout as she turns her back to me. “After everything that’s happened!”

Mom strolls to the back door. “You long for normalcy. I’m treating you the way a normal parent would treat their child.”

“Ugh,” I scoff, taking a step forward, but as I try to lift my other foot something happens. The roots from the redwood tree shoot up out of the ground, twisting and contorting like serpent. “Mom!” I shriek. “I don’t know what’s happening!”

Mom’s spins around, her face drenched in fear, and sprints toward me. “No! No!” she screams.

I hurl my body forward, but drop my eyes when I notice a small, sliver of a crack in the earth. “Mom! Hurry!” My lungs clench and I’m holding my breath. The crack widens and soon clumps of the earth begin to fall into a deep black pit. Mom finally reaches me, but now the crack is so wide all she can do is extend her hand. She can’t jump across. I reach for her. My fingers curl, needy and desperate.

“Just grab my hand!” she cries. She’s terrified and tears spill onto her cheeks. I extend my arm as far as I can and feel a surge of warmth as her fingertips brush against mine. Stretching the tips, I grapple with her hand, trying to get a firmer grasp, but it’s no use. The roots of the redwood release my feet and the ground beneath me gives way.

“Persephone!” mom shrieks.

“Mooooom!”

Then I’m falling. Falling into a pit of the unknown. Shrouded by a blanket of black nothingness. Passing out as the darkness eats me up and swallows me.

Persephone

I wake up and every bone, muscle, and organ in my body aches. Sucking in a deep breath, I cry out as intense pain stabs at my lungs. Maybe I’m going to fall apart. Maybe my limbs will start dropping, one-by-one, landing in an odd arrangement on the ground. I hug myself tightly. I’m convinced I can be a bandage. I can hold myself together, but as the pain stabs deeper and intensifies I know that’s not true. I don’t have immunity from pain or injuries. I only have immunity when it comes to death. And right now, I’m certain I’d rather die than go through any more pain like this.

I try to stand, but as I put weight on my right ankle it buckles and I hit my knees. My hands slide through moisture and grime while I continue using them for leverage. Using the wall as my anchor, I get to my feet, staring up as a sliver of moonlight peaks through a tiny crack in the earth. I’m frightened and desperate and I tell myself that maybe if I can climb the wall, no matter how long it takes me, maybe then I can climb out of this concrete tomb and go back to earth. But the second I start climbing, the crack slowly begins to close and soon I’m wrapped up in a black comforter. And I’m stuck on the slippery cement wall.

The darkness blinds me. I can’t go up and I can’t go down. I’m stuck in limbo and my fingers are sliding in muck and I’m losing my footing. My heel catches in a divot and a burning pain blossoms in my ankle and travels up my thigh. Crying out, I lose my footing and plummet from the wall, hitting the ground with a thud.

All the bones in my spine crack as I sit up. The silence seeps into my pores and infiltrates my blood stream. Pretty soon it travels through my veins to my cranium and I’m certain my mind is playing tricks on me. A loud snap rings out and I jump. “Is someone there?” I grip the slippery wall and pull myself up. My fingers slide, but I feel around and rest my elbow in a protruding cranny of cement. Putting pressure on my right ankle, I try to walk forward

, but I can’t. I’ve sprained my ankle.

Wobbling ahead, half-limping, half-hopping, I remain against the wall with only the ability to feel my way around the room. Part of me wants to give up. I’m weak, in pain, and frightened. I feel like a toddler whose just been scolded by her parent. Every part of me wants to curl up into a ball and cry. But I don’t. And I can’t. I need to find a way out of here. I have to find a way out of here.

By the time I’ve made it half-way around the room; I realize that the room is circular. Maybe I’m in an old well or something. There’s a musty smell similar to mold and mildew and I find it odd that the walls are coated in sludge. The wall is my road map. I hate not having any sight? What if there is something lurking in the darkness? What if they’re waiting for their moment to jump out and attack me? How am I supposed to fight back if I can’t see what’s coming?

Sliding to the left, I glide my hand forward feeling ahead. The wall dips off and I brush my fingertips against something cold and metal. The coldness shocks me, electrocutes me, and kicks my heartbeat into overdrive. A doorknob! I’ve found a doorknob! Hopping forward, I twist the door knob and walk into a dimly lit corridor.

The floor is made of black marble. I’m afraid to step onto it. Too many things about this place don’t seem right. I feel like I’m exploring the interior of an optical illusion. What will happen when I step on the floor? What if it’s quicksand? I’ll be suctioned, yanked under by an unknown force. Or what if it turns into a sea of hot tar? Then as the black sticky substance splashes against my peachy pallor it will melt away my flesh.

I heal a lot faster than mortals do. I know I’ll heal completely from the injuries I’ve sustained in about eight hours, but it still sucks that I have to suffer through the pain until then. Crouching down, I press the tip of my finger into the marble. Then I press harder. The floor is firm, so I warily take a step forward. Then I hop. No illusion. The black marble floor is just a black marble floor.

Limping down the long corridor, I marvel at the elaborate cast iron candelabra’s lining the deep crimson walls. Tiny crystals dangle from the molten iron and create an afterglow along the walls. I glance to my left, then to my right. There are no doors lining the hall and straight ahead it seems like the hall stretches on miles. I limp faster. I don’t know if I’ll make it. No. I shake my head as a reassuring feeling washes over me, cleansing me of any doubts I might have had. This is a hallway and no matter how long it is it has to lead me somewhere, right?

After limping for what feels like decades, I come to a dead end. Every shred of hope I have seeps out of me like perspiration oozing from my pores after spending hours in the sun. I’m a human sweat box. Dehydrated and drenched and sadness sits in the pit of my stomach eating all of my other emotions. All hope is lost.

I lift my head and a gold cord of a rope with fringe adoring the edges blurs in my eyes. Inching my fingers closer, I contemplate pulling it. Should I, or shouldn’t I? I clench my fist right below it as the fringe brushes against my knuckles. Determination pumps through me like oil being injected into the engine of a car. Suddenly, I don’t what will happen. I tell myself I need to stop being afraid. I tell myself that yes, something is going to happen when I yank on this rope, but if it’s going to get me out of this maze of a hallway then so be it.

Yanking on the rope, I pull with so much force I feel like I’m going to rip it down from the ceiling. After I release it, I wait. One second. Ten seconds. Before I realize it a minute has passed and nothing has happened. Hobbling around, I place my back against the wall and let out a frustrated sigh. Hanging my head low, puddles of tears swell up and drop on to the black abyss of a floor. Then I perk up when I hear a clicking sound. It starts slow, separated by a ten second time span and suddenly the clicking picks up. Whirling. Grinding. Like someone is sharpening a pencil. And just as I perk up and back away from the wall, the floor beneath me gives way, crumbling to bits and miraculously repairing itself. And I’m falling again.

I land on my back and choke on a strangled breath as the abrupt force from the fall knocks the wind out of me. There’s a hand inside my body squeezing the air from my lungs. Tighter and tighter, the hand clenches. Someone is squeezing the life out of me. Rolling over on to my side, I wheeze and cough out. Breathe, just breathe. At this point tiny white and red dots flash before my eyes and I feel like I’m going to pass out. After blinking several times, my eyes are filled with black and I place my forehead against the cool marble floor. The icy tile feels slick and smooth and its freezing temperature brings goose bumps to my flesh. Thoughts gnaw at the nerve endings of my brain like I’ve just ingested anthrax. I want to know where I am, but I can’t muster up the strength to pick myself up from the floor.

A minute passes. Then five. Next ten. There’s only a sliver of me that wants to move. I want to lie here forever against the cold tile. I want it to thrill me and chill to the bone over and over again. There’s something refreshing about its coldness. I’m twisted. I’m a contortionist. My limbs are like wiry tree branches. Frozen forever in a particular way and sticking out at odd angles, but I don’t care. As uncomfortable as my position is, I hope I stay this way forever.

I wait for another twenty minutes then slowly pick myself up off the floor, mouth gaping open as I take in my surroundings. High vaulted ceilings loom above me made out of a smooth molted kind of black rock. Lowering my gaze, I center on the thick cherry-stained table, complete with twelve chairs. Five on each side. Two on the ends. A six tiered crystal chandelier hung down in the center and each crystal has to be at least six inches long. I’m in a palace and I haven’t seen a palace this decadent in thousands of years. Olympus was like this, except we didn’t have some of the modern luxuries that people have today. I’m so absorbed in the creepy, yet beautiful setting, that I jump when I hear a whoosh from behind me. I spin around to a blazing fire, encased by a black, red, and grey marble fireplace. Who lit the fire? It wasn’t lit when I fell into this room.

Limping, I stand in front of the fireplace and hold my hands out, warming them. The bright orange fire crackles and hisses and one of the flames nearly licks my hand. I take a step back, but can still feel the heat caressing my palms. Then I hear soft footsteps and my entire body stiffens. A shadow is cast over the fire dancing along with the flames. Hades is behind me. I am sure of it. Despite all of my injuries, I’m filled with so much anger that I feel like a torpedo, jetting through the cold ocean in search of a vessel to crash into. A vessel to blow to smithereens.