Hope in a Dark Place

After she fell, Hope crawled across the rough floor, bumping into unseen objects and getting splinters in her hands and knees. Pain mingled with fear. She stopped, sat up, and began to sob.

It was dark, extremely dark. Shaking her head, she thought, “I have to hold myself together and not panic.” She held back her tears. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears. A soft whistling sound, barely audible, came from the direction she was headed.

She pushed herself to a standing position and with hands extended, she took a few shuffling steps toward the sound, paused, and adjusted her path. Step by faltering step, she inched across the room. “Oomph,” she cried. Hope rubbed her thigh when she struck her leg against a hard corner. “I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow.”

Using her hands, she felt her way around the object, then stood quietly until she heard the sighing whistle again. She eased forward. It seemed like an eternity until she felt a solid wall before her.

The surface was irregular. By sliding her hands over the surface, she ascertained that it was a door, a double door, portals of escape, a way out of this darkness. She felt the crack where the two doors met. The faint whistle emanated there. A faint breeze and a thin shaft of diffused light squeezed through the crevice. A vestige of hope flickered in her soul.

She allowed her hands to slide downward, seeking the doors’ knobs. A cold, metal protuberance greeted her searching fingers. “It’s a handle. All I need to do is to pull it open and I’ll be free.”

Sliding her hand farther down, she felt more cold metal. She palpated it to determine what it was that she was feeling. There were thick, cold metal, interlinking ovals.

The doors were chained tightly shut. sliding to the floor, she began to sob. Hope was dashed.