#2 - Concrete Barrel

Prompt: About 20 minutes after the oil drum you are crammed into is filled with concrete you realize you are probably immortal.

Everything is still black. There is no sound except that rushing noise of nothing. I feel plugged. Nostrils stuffed, ears caulked. I won't open my mouth, I refuse. Concrete probably tastes terrible. More importantly, my legs and back are killing me. All cramped up in here.

They took me to the warehouse filled with hundreds of blue metal barrels. Drums, like the ones they put oil or chemical waste in. The goons in their black suit pants and leather jackets dragging by the arms. I tried to walk, but when guys twice your size are hauling you around it's hard to keep your feet under you. Heck, it's hard to keep your wits, to organize your thoughts, when you feel like a kid being brought to dad after a royal screw up. 

When they let go of my arms I fell to the ground, slammed by gravity onto the cement floor. My arms burned, my knees and wrists were jolted so damn hard I felt it in my head. It's hard to get up with any dignity from that. That's the point though. When they treat like a prepubescent you're not  supposed to feel dignified. They wrack your nerves before they kill you.

Except I'm not dead. How the hell am I not dead? 

Rocko said some stuff. I muttered back like the delinquent they want me to be. I get mad at myself for not standing up to him. Rocko says "You won't live to regret this." He nods and I'm dragged off again. Not far though.

I kick, I fight, but I'm still shoved into a blue barrel. They hit me hard with the butt of a gun right on the temple. My head is thick and on fire when I feel something heavy and wet pouring in around me. 

What's this, I think. I can focus long enough to realize it's concrete. I'm about to die, I think. I scream, but it only echoes on the close metal walls. 

And I'm still here. The lid is on tight. I can still move a little; can press my hands on the steel ceiling. The panic is gone, but the confusion is my whole world, my whole black world. I'm not breathing. I have got to be dead. Is this my afterlife? Blackness and a stiff neck for eternity. Yeah, this must be hell. There's no fire or brimstone. No red devil with a pitchfork and a pointy tail. No air, no light, no sound. There's nothing. 

But I'm thinking. I'm moving. I'm feeling. I can't be dead, can I? 

The concrete on the bottom is getting harder to shift around in. It's hardening. Huh, cement shoes. I wonder if there's a way out of here. Not if this is hell. But, why not try? I'd love to see the look on Rocko's face when I come walking up, dripping with concrete. And those guards of his, with one brain cell between them, would look as dumb as they are. Why not try? 

I stand up as much as I can, pressing my shoulders against the lid and push against it. I crouch and then release as quick as the rocky sludge will let me. There's a metal clank, like when the screen door slams. I crouched again and launch myself up. It's maybe six inches, nine if I'm lucky. The metal gongs again, the barrel rocks slightly. Now there's an idea. 

I lean to my left, then right, then left again. Nothing. I throw myself to the left then quick back right. The barrel shifts, the concrete moves around me. Alright, I think to myself, keep it up. I rock back and forth, back and forth through the mixture I'm marinating in. It feels like a carnival ride as I move and my world moves around me. The ground is missing under me in the front then the back, back and forth, forth and back. 

Suddenly, I'm tipping. I'm on my side and my barrel is rolling. I'm sure there was a bang when I landed. Someone had to hear that sound. They're probably coming. I'm slammed against the side of the barrel. We've stopped rolling, me and my barrel. Something is happening. The concrete is moving still. I reach for the lid and feel around the rim. There it is, a cinch. The concrete is leaking out, slowly, very slowly. 

What am I supposed to do now? Think, think. I want to open my eyes, but I know I ain't gunna see nothing. I remember camping when I was kid. My dad forgot the can opener, but he had this pocket knife. After he had jammed the blade into a can of baked beans and sawed around a little he used the blade to pop the lid up enough to get the beans out. Why am I thinking of beans?

Nobody has come to set me up right again. They probably left thinking I'm not a problem anymore. When I get out of here, man are they gunna see what kind of problem I am. My dad gave me a real nice pocket knife after that camping trip. It had all kinds of things on it besides a knife. That knife is still in my pocket. Those dumb goonies always check for guns, but not for knives. I drag my arm through the concrete and feel for my pocket. My jeans are stiffer than my joints, but I can feel it. I kind of kneel to straighten my right leg and reach into my pocket. Turning the knife over in my hands I start thinking about the tools I could use. I smile, a weird close-mouthed smile, and flip out the can opener tool. 

Reaching toward the lid I find the cinch, the hole that’s leaking out concrete like a stuck pig. I jam the can opener through the hole and wiggle it around. The lid clanks again. I wiggle the tool a little more. The lid clanks and the concrete flows out more now. Pressing my feet against the bottom of the barrel I put my hands flat on the lid above my head. I push with my arms and legs as hard as I can. 

Finally the lid gives way and the concrete and me come sprawling out of the barrel like a newborn babe. I can feel the air; I gasp and fill my lungs for the first time in what feels like my whole life, like I've never really breathed before. I wipe the concrete from my face, my eyes, my mouth and nose. 

Lying on the ground, I'm staring up at the ceiling of the warehouse. Early morning light is coming in from the high windows. I must have been in that barrel for hours. 

My knees and back hurt. My hands are raw from rocks pressing into them. My ears feel like slugs crawled out of them. I breathe deeply through my mouth. How am I not dead?