Image credit: Diane Pichiottino on Unsplash.
He pulled his leg back and then released it against the side of the vessel. The wall moved but not enough to remove the pressure from his head. This was going to take more than one kick.
He concentrated, pulled back both legs and began to pummel. Ah, that’s better. The vessel rolled around so that not only did his head have more room, but his arms had greater freedom also.
The vessel used to be larger. He could shift his body then, even turn around. Lately he felt cramped all the time. Every day there was less room. Something had to give.
The first kick had been an accident. A random act. Until then he had been passive and had suffered the encroaching walls without resistance. But after the first kick he realized that if he increased the frequency and force of the kicks he could actually affect the position of the vessel.
The vessel emitted muffled sounds in response to the kicks. Beyond that there were no repercussions.
It never occurred to him to question why he had been imprisoned. This was the only life he knew. He could remember nothing before the vessel.
Recently something had changed. He had begun to feel different. The vessel was familiar. It was safe. He had never been hurt here. And yet, this wasn't enough. What was the new sensation?
Boredom! He was bored.
After that he began to pummel the sides of the vessel to entertain himself. He liked the fact that he could make the vessel move. Best of all, the sounds. They made him feel less bored.
Eventually he began to listen carefully for sounds outside the vessel even when he wasn’t kicking.
Yes, he heard them. Had they been there all the time and he never realized?
It was comforting to know there was something outside. Sometimes he yearned to hear the sounds. It saddened him when silence continued.
In those times of quiet the vessel started to become insufferable. It was too small. And he wanted to know more about the sounds. He wanted to hear more of them, all the time.
The truth could not be avoided anymore. It hit him with great ferocity.
Escape. He needed to escape.
How? He'd never seen an exit. No way out. But there had to be.
From that instant he plotted. He began to press against the vessel, push the sides with all his strength. Eventually he sensed a dramatic shift in the vessel's orientation.
Fear gripped him. What would he do if he actually got out? Would he be safe? What was out there, beyond the vessel?
At one point he noticed the vessel had turned. Its shape had changed. There was even less room. The sides started to oppress him.
No, he thought. I want to go back! But his pounding didn't affect the vessel. It barely moved no matter what he did. At the same time it grew smaller and smaller.
He had to get out. He pushed, shoved and struggled.
Suddenly, he was free.
Free??
What was this? The vessel was gone and he was being moved rudely through space. So much space.
Then he felt it. A sharp pain where his legs met his trunk.
I changed my mind! He started to scream. Yes he could scream. Where was his vessel?
Is this what he had struggled for?
Noise. Cold. Pain. How could he have known?
He was exhausted. The journey out of the vessel had taxed him. All around there was activity. He was covered now in a soft material. He closed his eyes tightly against the new thing, light.
With the same will that had prompted him to kick the vessel and plot for his escape he contemplated his situation.
No going back. Not anymore. This was his choice. He would deal with it, wherever it took him.
Freedom.
This story was written as an exercise, in response to the Inkwell challenge to avoid author intrusion. I tried to make the situation one in which it would be difficult to remain in character, to keep my voice out of the story. Not sure how successful I was, but trying this perspective was interesting.
I'm hoping to read some stories that handle the challenge differently this week.
