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❛ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇʟᴀɴᴅs ᴏғ ᴛɪᴍᴇ​​​​​​​​​​. ❜ ° . ༄
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»»————- ꒰ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴀsʜ & ᴅᴜsᴛ ꒱


❝ WHAT THE HELL? ❞

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Lola didn't know what woke her but she groaned and opened her eyes, lifting her head from where her cheek stuck to the page she'd been writing on before she'd fallen asleep. The basement was pitch-black as her candles had burned out while she'd been resting. Unbothered, the brunette stood, stretched and made her way to the wall where she knew the light switch was. After patting the guessed area, her hand hit on the dimmer and flicked it up. Nothing happened.

She moved it up and down several more times and the room remained completely dark. Frowning in confusion, Lola guessed that they'd lost power during the night for some reason. With no windows in the basement it was impossible to tell what time it was or if a weather event had happened. Shrugging, she stepped twice to the right and placed her hand on the banister to guide her steps up the stairs. Only— she hit her head halfway up.

"Ouch!" the girl yelped, and rubbed the sore spot on her head. What the hell? The ceiling was never this low before! There were fifteen steps from the door to the bottom of the basement. Lola had only gone up seven. 

She pushed on the supposed ceiling tentatively. No movement. 

"Hey, guys? Mom? Dad?" she called, hoping someone would hear.

There was no way the ceiling was caved in, right? How would that even be possible? Maybe her uncle was pulling a prank on her and had stuffed obstacles down the stairs so she couldn't come up.

"Uncle Ed? You're really very funny! Haha!" she tried, hoping it would convince him to help move the stuff.

Then, something shifted and movement by her feet made her jump, causing her to yelp. There's no mice down here, idiot. Her mother would never allow that, so what had fallen by her foot?

Still in pitch-blackness, Lola made her way back down the stairs until she was on the last one. Gripping the banister carefully, she moved her foot into the empty space below the final step until she hit what had fallen. Bending over, she was surprised by the weight of the item.

Lola moved the object between her hands to feel the roughness and shape of it. It wasn't any sort of object used for a prank, she determined. It felt like a part of her house. But how could that be right?

Stay calm, Lola, she told herself, there's a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe mom decided to renovate the upstairs, started this morning and forgot you were down here? That seemed a little far-fetched. What about school? Her mother always checked the basement if Lola wasn't in her room and it had to be around the time she had to get ready.

Dropping the loose object, the girl made her way back up until her head brushed the blockage again, "MOM? DAD?" she yelled and strained her ears for an answer.

What the hell happened last night? Or early this morning, she supposed. She called for her parents several more times, all of which went without response. Turning, she sat down on the seventh step and buried her face in her hands; the sudden coverage of her eyes made no difference with the black of the room.

Okay, she thought, you know the basement. What could you use to help you?

There were drills and electrical cords so she could drill herself out but she'd never used the tools before; her mom would go nuts and there seemed to be no power. She had candles so she could burn her way through but if it was mostly cement on top of her so that wouldn't help. Paint was useless and so were light bulbs. She doubted there was something useful in the holiday section. Did they have a pick axe? Those couldn't be so hard to use. Or maybe an anvil and a hammer.

That would take longer but didn't require electricity and her mom might be more okay with that.

What if it caves in on you, though? she considered as she bit her lip while she tried to puzzle around it, what did people use to prevent cave-ins? Some type of support, she supposed. Did they store plywood in the basement? Was that even strong enough?

Stay calm, Lola, you can do this. And besides, she was jumping ahead of herself. Surely her parents would notice and dig her out? Maybe there wasn't even that much blockage and it just seemed like a lot. It probably just was a rotten prank her Uncle Ed had cooked up but she couldn't see her mother being okay with her being late for school because of it. Still, she didn't want to jump to conclusions so she stood and made her way back up the stairs to call as loudly as she could: "MOM? DAD? UNCLE ED?"

✧ ✧ ✧

There was no telling how much time had passed but no answer came as Lola's voice tired out. After her 839th call, she gave a final cough, turned, and sat down, bending her head slightly to accommodate the small space. What now?

Surely it was past school's starting time. Her uncle and father would be at the store and her mother would be at the library starting her shift. Lola sighed and strained her eyes into the blackness, hoping it would reveal an answer of what happened. It didn't, of course, but she wasn't sure what else to do. Maybe her voice wasn't loud enough? The thought suddenly occurred to her and part of her favorite, well-memorized story came back to her: Liesel hit the lid of a paint can. Maybe her paint cans weren't as useless as she thought.

After sliding down the stairs feet first and lowering herself carefully by her hands, she stood and made her first step to the left. Suddenly, she was very glad she was a counter. There were exactly twenty-seven and a half steps to the paint section of the shelves from the bottom of the stairs. Carefully counting them out, she arrived in the correct place and took the top paint can after feeling around for the handle. Then, with another fifteen steps, she made her way to the handheld tools and felt along the second shelf for a hammer, pleased when she grasped the worn, wooden handle.

Turning, Lola counted the total forty-two and a half steps back to the stairs and went up again to the blockage. Placing the paint can on the last available step, she swung the hammer down hard on the lid. It let out a resounding clang which was loud in the dark stillness and made her flinch in surprise. Shaking off her prickle of fear, she repeated the action several more times.

✧ ✧ ✧ 

The girl jumped when something slightly wet splashed on her and she gingerly felt the spot where it landed on her shirt. Oops.

The lid had dented after so many impacts and now it had finally given, the most recent contact had splashed the sent the wet paint flying. She swallowed nervously. How many paint cans did they have? How long would she be stuck here? Clearly, no one was coming to help. Lola supposed she should have waited until her parents would actually be home but the thought hadn't occurred to her until now. Besides, who knew how long it had been?

The thought made her shudder slightly as the idea of days passing without being released didn't sit well with her. She loved the basement but even she didn't want to live out the rest of her days here. 

I need light, Lola thought, slightly frantically. She shook herself and took a deep breath. As well as she knew the space, losing count of the steps wouldn't help her. She descended the stairs again and stepped left, this time counting out eleven steps. Her hands found the candles and matches blindly, relieved when she felt that there were twenty-five in all. She would still conserve the light, though. Just in case.

Lola repeated her path in reverse and sat on the third step before she carefully held one slim, long candle between her legs as she prepared the lighter. There was a spark and the match caught, causing her to quickly set it to the wick and shake it out, relieved to keep some of the darkness at bay. Holding the light aloft, the brunette stood from the stairs and in twenty-one steps she reached the far wall where a wine cellar of sorts stood embedded into the cement. The space was tiny and hand-dug, extremely cold in the winter and less so in the summer but was an additional food storage area for long-term items. They didn't usually keep it very full but there were several packages of canned drinks, two tubs of ice cream, some frozen dinners and a case of water.

The girl now took stock of the items, checking that each one she thought was in there actually was and was reassured that she would be able to survive down here for some time if it came to that. She hoped not. Lola had zero practice with survival skills and what she knew only came from books like Hatchet which wouldn't truly help her here.

She wasn't an idiot; rationing her food should start immediately and she needed to go as long as possible without eating or drinking to make it last longer. Going to the bathroom would be a challenge but she'd dedicate a spot and hope for the best.

Stop it, idiot, Lola thought suddenly, you're acting like you're stuck down here. You probably aren't.

Still, she couldn't help but think what if she was? At least the couch could act as her bed and the rest of the time would be spent trying to free herself. She exited the food storeroom as she added: at least you don't have to worry about homework right now. Your teachers will understand if you miss because you're trapped in a basement. Hopefully.

Okay, she continued, if worse comes to worse, you're pretty well off. There's definitely no need to panic. Nope, none at all. Think: what would Liesel do? WWLD? She wouldn't panic— well, she did at the sight of her dead—

STOP. 

Don't think like that. The point is, she didn't panic when she was trapped in her basement. People came to help. The same will happen for you. You've always wanted to be like her, remember? Now's your chance.

"At least this will make for an interesting section in my autobiography," Lola commented aloud and instantly shook her head. Stop it. Talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity. It had only been a few hours at most, probably eight.

The uncertainty of exactly how many made her shiver.

✧ ✧ ✧

The next day— or what she assumed was the next day— she tried the same routine: calling her parents' and uncle's names for as long as she could before her voice gave and then resorting to banging on a paint can until it, too, gave. Lola used some of her light to count exactly how many paint cans she had, which was fifteen. A little over two weeks and she'd used two already.

They could help her keep track of the estimated days. To keep herself busy, she also portioned out her food into servings so she wouldn't eat a lot at once even if she was really hungry. Her stomach was already starting to growl but she pushed through since she knew it could get worse.

Another obstacle she realized she had was that there was no running water, not that the basement had a sink. There was no way to keep her hands clean or wash herself and she cringed at the thought of becoming disgustingly dirty.

✧ ✧ ✧

The next guessed day came and Lola was entertaining the idea that something had gone very, very wrong outside. She'd sat for several hours next to the cave-in and heard nothing. She allowed that the pile on top of her was too thick to let sound through but it seemed that she'd hear police sirens or something as they swarmed over the collapsed house.

The thought made her heart twist in her chest. What about her parents? Were they hurt? The only explanation that there could be was the house collapsed, but surely they hadn't been inside when it happened? They were probably worried out of their minds right now about her. Lola wished she could send them a message that she was okay.

An idea had crossed her mind that she could tap out an SOS out on her paint can lid but she didn't know Morse Code and had tossed the idea aside. The brunette was glad that she had rather weak olfactory senses and couldn't easily smell herself but she was sure that after three days of not showering, she must stink.

You stink to high heaven! her mother would say. Lola had never missed her as much as she did right now and she wished she could have been more understanding about her mother's reasoning for things. The next time she gives me chores or scolds me, I won't ever complain again.

✧ ✧ ✧

Two more days passed without much change. Lola still lived in darkness most of the time and worried about running out of light. It was surprisingly easy to stick to food rations. She'd never been a big eater but she wasn't a small eater either. She chalked it up to the fact that she could count each serving.

After spending her obligatory hours trying to get help, Lola would then shuffle, shuffle, shuffle her cards over and over again to keep the panic at bay, the action familiar and comforting. In the dark, she would try magic tricks which proved to be difficult as she couldn't see the result. Then, she returned to counting all fifty-two of the cards to reassure herself that they were all there. Her writing fell by the wayside as she focused on keeping herself calm and definitely not panicking.

✧ ✧ ✧

After approximately one week, Lola was starting to feel the affects of being stuck in the dark for so long. Sleep had become more difficult and she instead lay awake for hours as she stared into nothing as she lay on her side on the couch with the cushions pressed against her back. It was easier to operate without light now, too. She still counted her steps whenever she moved around but her ears seemed sharper— the ringing of the paint can lid proved that— her touch seemed more sensitive and it seemed like her smell had improved, too, because she was definitely stinking.

Lola wished she had a change of clothes at least but she was out of luck. The only possibility of new cloth was Christmas tree skirt and that wouldn't help her since she didn't have needle and thread— not that she was even a fashion designer but she could have figured something out.

Sometimes, when she stared at nothing for long periods of time, bright spots would enter her vision or strange, geometric shapes would pop up. Then, she would blink and they would disappear. The thought of seeing things terrified her and Lola made an effort to keep her eyes physically closed instead of just peering into the darkness.

✧ ✧ ✧

By the beginning of the second week, sleep had suddenly come back. Lola thought she was just closing her eyes in short spurts but in reality, they were closed for many hours. The paint cans helped keep her from misjudging how many days she'd spent in isolation and the food rations did too, slightly.

The panic that had threatened to overwhelm her had ebbed, only poking at the back of her mind every so often. Lola could feel that her body had become weaker, too, even though she spent many hours pacing the edge of the space, counting out all 900 steps. It was clear that no one was coming to help her but she couldn't bring herself to stop hoping. Even as she lost everything else, something told her to press forward and keep believing someone would come.

She'd been speaking to herself more and more too, to cover up the awful silence that persisted in the darkness. She'd often just recite parts of her autobiography, sang song lyrics she'd memorized or she'd spend several hours reciting The Book Thief as a way to help calm her as her panic increased. One time in her rotations, she'd turned on the third corner and had stopped for a moment as her eyes widened upon seeing what looked like a monkey on a unicycle juggling, complete with flashing circus lights and music.

Lola's mouth had dropped open and she'd let out a crazy, slightly maniacal laugh before she rubbed at her eyes furiously in disbelief. The darkness had promptly returned, leaving her to shiver fearfully on the spot.

✧ ✧ ✧ 

On the twelfth day— according to her paint cans— something changed. Lola hadn't been expecting it, of course, and had gone on with her usual routine. Then, in one of her circuits of the basement, she heard something out of the ordinary from the sounds she was used to— not that there were many. Her pulse picked up. Was someone trying to kill her?

"No, stupid," she said aloud, her voice raw and hoarse from the hours she spent yelling, "you're dumb. There's no one alive. I think we're alone now."

The words didn't make sense but then nothing much did these days. When had she started speaking in plural? Still, the shifting continued.

Creeping slowly up the staircase, the brunette paused next to her already set-up paint can. It certainly sounded like someone was out there. The girl looked down the dark staircase, thinking about her remaining food and liquid supply which was now rapidly dwindling, her shrinking amount of candles, paint cans and matches, her frayed, used deck of cards and came to a decision.

At first, her banging went unnoticed on the surface until the shifting stilled above her.

"Hello?" the sound was faint and muffled, clearly she was hearing things.

Lola continued her banging and hoped that maybe— just maybe— she wasn't.

The shifting resumed but it seemed more purposeful now. The sound came again, "hello? Is anyone there?"

Bang, bang, bang came the answer as the brunette continuously hit the lid. A chink of brilliant light appeared above her head, making her shut her eyes in pain.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" it was definitely a voice— a young one, too.

Then, the hole opened wider, wider and wider until bright light came pouring into the dark space. Turning up her face but closing her eyes, Lola tried to look up at who had come for her. Maybe she was dead and the light was from heaven.

The answer was the exact opposite as the voice spoke again, this time with disbelief clear in the tone: "what the hell?" 

Note: I tried to keep it realistic in terms of the actual affects of staying in isolated darkness for a long period of time and even did some research on it. Apparently, you lose a sense of time and people have reported seeing hallucinations, hence the bright spots and juggling monkey. It was kind of creepy to read.