The Journey or The End

I shift uncomfortably, jammed between boxes and packing crates, my limbs tangled into ratchet-ribbons holding everything down, and anxious sweat slicks across my brow and cheeks, stinging my eyes, trickling down my neck and soaking my t-shirt.Trapped in the dark with only the soft, weeping murmurs of the others, and the scent of too-close, unwashed humanity (and fear) reeking in my nostrils, I allow my mind to wander down corridors which seem to double back on themselves and arrive at the same inevitable solution: failure.

It was my only chance – it took all I had – I can’t do this again – I’m going to fail – It’s over; the pattern replays, speeding up to keep time with the elevated beating of my heart as terror grips me, my chest spasms again, and the darkness becomes weft through with hallucinations rising from my fourth panic attack since climbing in.

The driver has all my money – if this doesn’t work, I can’t go back, and I can’t leave, and the reality is that my life may be ended for me.

The panic attack slows and I catch my breath again as I try to decide whether it was serendipity or a cruel twist of fate that I was shown to these lorries in that dockside car park. A small, desperate whisper reverberates throughout the oppressive, suffocating darkness of the container, followed by a smell which climbs into my throat and makes me gag – the stench of someone having shat themselves now also destined to be our travelling companion for as long as the journey lasts.

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This week’s prompt was PARK, and my story was inspired by the current hot-topic of illegal immigrants being brought into the country on lorries, and all the controversy surrounding their entrance, and the way they get (in every sense) taken for a ride.

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