Countdown to the End

Countdown to the End


I habitually treated my confinement as an endurance test of sorts - kept away from family and friends; trapped in echoing, grey chambers; surrounded by endless noise and a group of strangers I never would have known otherwise. The only way I was able to maintain even the smallest level of sanity was to know that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, an end.

During our confinement, they required us to work all hours of the day and night, sometimes as long as fifty hours straight without rest. They weren't supposed to do that, but it happened all the time. It really depended on who was in charge and who was watching them at any given time. They would work us until our bodies collapsed in exhaustion and our minds fled, screaming, if they could. They placed all sorts of unreasonable restrictions upon us, sometimes making us find our way in the dark, with red lights providing the barest illumination or simulating fires and making us fight to save our temporary home.

Our home was a living, breathing leviathan, constructed of walls of grey which seem to absorb all other colours by osmosis, and extending further to drain the very life of its occupants - us. Outside those walls, there was nothing, nobody for hundreds of kilometres in any direction. We were at the mercy of our home and the temperamental whims of the merciless weather. No escape.

We soon discovered that we had to work as a team to stay alive. To fight in coordinated unison to achieve our goals. Our enemies were not only those who attacked us with terminal intent but our environment and the dangers that lay there in, and sometimes even each other. Just one small slip from one member of your team could mean the end of everyone.

During those days, we developed relationships that extended beyond just being mere team members. It was inevitable given the common circumstances in which we found ourselves. We shared meals, confined sleeping spaces, and even the very air we breathed. When you rely upon each other for your very survival, a unique kind of bond is forged. A bond that is rarely found under any other circumstances.

The hardest concept to accept was the realisation that we needed to support and sustain the very beast which drained our motivation, our enthusiasm, our zest for life. Without the beast, no one could survive. But still, we had hope. We knew that this existence, for exist was simply what we did, would come to an end.

One would think that to stay alive would be our main purpose, however, each and every one of us, strangers at the outset, were united in a common goal: counting down to the end.

The end was a day, initially far distant and sometimes unknown, but gradually moving closer in infinitesimally small increments. Creeping closer so slowly that time seemed to stretch, all out of proportion. On this day, we would all be relieved of our pain and suffering. On the last day, we would find peace and contentment. We were so conditioned by our existence that we actually anticipated the arrival of that day.

Each and every one of us knew exactly what to expect on that day and still, we looked forward to it with eager anticipation.

On that day, the ship would sail into the harbour and pull alongside the wharf, where our families, so well loved and long missed, would be waiting with beatific smiles and bright eyes shimmering with tears of barely restrained emotion. The gangway would be lowered and we would stampede down into the midst of the crowd to be enveloped by hugs and kisses and the warmth and comfort of a loving welcome home as the countdown finally reached the end.