By Jameson Grey
We’d found it – a trench deeper even than Mariana!
Approaching 36,000 feet below, the crew – me down here in comms with the team up top – let out a symbolic cheer. Ten minutes later, the Vescovo‘s systems start to misbehave. I attempt a reboot.
Soon after, my descent speed increases rapidly.
↓↓↓
Three hours since that cheer. The lights in the sub are flickering.
Off. On.
↓↓↓
Still descending.
My head rages; my muscles and joints drag me down; my chest feels like the weight of the sub is pressing upon it.
The Vescovo creaks. The lights go off …
On.
My ears are tolling.
Off … …
Are my eyes bleeding?
On.
I’ve read that the pressure around 115,000 feet beneath the surface will crush human bones. Will the Vescovo crack before then? Before me?
Off … … …
How deep is this drop in the ocean?
… … … On.
There’s nothing but darkness out there.
Off …
Off.
↓↓↓
↓↓
↓
G
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g
d
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Jameson Grey is originally from England but now lives with his family in western Canada. His work has been published in Dark Dispatch, Dark Moments and in anthologies from Ghost Orchid Press, Black Hare Press, Black Ink Fiction and Hellbound Books. He can be found at jameson-grey.com and occasionally on Twitter @thejamesongrey.
The Birdseed 