The End of the Tunnel

The band had been

waiting in the staging area

for as long as they could recall.

It was warm, humid even.

Sweat trickled out of open pores-

Sticky, salty, slowly

Drip, drip, dripping on the solid

ground of the room.

 Lights hung above

coaxing the attention of the band below.

Walls of gray brick enclosed the room,

sucking out all of the sound, all of the time,

All of the life.

One of the walls held a long,

winding tunnel that seemed

to run on forever, and

another had a simple, metal door

placed by mortar and elbow grease.

The band sat in their white uniforms.

The instruments gleamed, reflecting

the light and the walls so intelligently.

So brightly.

Soon, the door opened,

and a stout man appeared

walking quickly to the drum major.

He stated one thing, and one thing only,

"It's your time."

At that the drum major hopped up,

and the band followed suit.

The room quickly filled up

with the clanking of metal,

the gunshots of snares,

the boom of the bass drums.

The drum major blew his whistle.

The band started marching.

Down the tunnel they went,

A single rectangle of white heading

for the end of their parade.

The tunnel was filled with

stragglers and the homeless,

but the band paid them no mind

as they focused on the music.

They simply continued to march,

and march,

and march

until they reached the end of the tunnel.

At the end of the tunnel came a huge surge of warmth,

and the cheer of a distant crowd

that had been feeding on the

entertainment of their echoes.

The band entered upon a different planet.

The street was enclosed in red.

Brick buildings.

Streets of crimson stone from the nearest quarry.

A blood red sky

with the setting sun.

Time was running out.

The band could see their goal in sight.

Their goal was the sun,

for at the sun came

Life.

They marched, but

suddenly members began to drop out.

A tuba crumbled under

the increasing weight

of his brass appendage.

Trombones began to drop

their arms in earnest

discomfort.

Reeds chipped under a new pressure.

Percussion plummeted to their knees,

Trumpets felt their lips

give over to sleep.

The drum major was the only one left.

He marched,

leaving his band behind

for the chance at life,

and soon the sun was in reach.

He took one last look behind

seeing his fallen comerades,

gazing upon the scene of red,

hearing the nonexistent crowd.

It was then he inserted himself into the sun.

It was then that life had yet again won.