Balls
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Martin Fleer's life hung in the balance. With each tiny tremor of his body, with each slight movement, with every delicate breath he took, he came closer to death!
His hands, drenched with sweat and aching with pain moved slowly, ever so slowly toward the hard cement wall just inches in front of him. He, however, did not know how far from the wall he really was. In fact, he didn't even know if there was a wall. All he knew was that his life was on the edge of existence at that very moment in time. He was just trying to find a way out. However, every time he moved his body, even to the slightest degree, he would move downward in a clumsy fashion with no control over the direction in which he was headed. His feet, unsteady and touching no solid object, struggled to find a foothold so as to preserve the life of Martin Fleer. Breathing in the dark, hot plastic atmosphere was more difficult than Martin would have ever imagined. The surface of each ball touching his skin seemed to pull the sweat from within his body to the surface with relative ease. In addition, paradoxically, the more he sweated, the less likely he was to reach the wall and stop his slow, deadly descent into the depths below.
When he began his journey through the maze, now somewhere several feet overhead, he failed to realize the consequences of his decision to attempt "The Pit" as it was called. Warning signs leading up to the pit had not gone unnoticed by the neurons racing through Martin's brain, but that tiny inward element called "curiosity" had reached out and imbedded itself deep into the logical reasoning area of Martin's mind leaving him no choice but to attempt survival in the so-called "Pit." Now Martin had wished that that seed of curiosity had died before ever reaching its destination within the confines of his skull.
Slip, slip, slap! Martin's feet moved downward 1/2 inch and a hard, green ball slipped and slapped Martin in the cheek. The pain surged through Martin's cheek, but he knew instantly that reaching up to rub and relieve the aching area was totally out of the question. Any movement, any, no matter how slight would only cause him to descend deeper into the abyss. Martin's brain raced with electrical activity straining to come to some kind of decision on how it could preserve his life. But nothing solidified.
Martin tried again in extremely slow motion to reach out and see if he could touch the wall. His fingers slowly passed one ball after another as his arm began to reach its' full length. Almost 45 minutes after he had begun to move his arm, he found his inward motivation to survive beginning to wane as he realized there was no wall within his reach.
Being in this ball pit would normally have been no big deal. However, this time it was different. For one, the warning signs had clearly stated that the use of this ball pit was at one's own risk. Secondly, it said that this particular pit was one-of-a-kind, being over 30 feet deep. Still, that was no big deal. Point three, however is what begins making this situation so unique. Point three stated: "At the bottom of "The Pit" you will be confronted with water. The water will vary in depth from between 5 and 8 feet. It is densely packed with balls thus making movement extremely difficult. At the bottom you will find a door leading out of the pit and through a short foot-long cement encased tunnel. This too is packed with balls. The tunnel measures 4 feet by 4 feet. Once you enter this water hazard, you are on your own. At the end of the tunnel, you will find yourself surfacing into another room. Again, you are on your own!"
That in itself would have made most anyone skeptical. However, this time it was even worse, especially for Martin.
Back in 2023, the use of mazes intermixed with ball pits of varying size and depth had been outlawed because of several accidents and injuries which had resulted from their use. Most had been closed down except for a few government-controlled ones which obviously were not nearly as exciting and fun as those run by just anyone in general. Because of money problems and bureaucratic red tape, some of the original mazes had never been destroyed or dismantled. The one Martin was in was one of these.
Martin had been out fooling around and snooping through old buildings in the older part of the city when he had stumbled across a building that had no name or identification on it. Again, curiosity getting the best of him, he had picked the locks and made his way inside. Not wanting to be caught, he had carefully closed the door and locked it the way he had found it. Thus, to an outsider, everything looked normal. Once inside Martin found himself facing a maze of gigantic proportions. It was like none he had ever seen. Tubes and tunnels twisted this way and that over the top of one another. Rope bridges hung precariously over 12 foot deep water holes. Balance beams were suspended 20 - 25 feet above the surface of the floor. Rope swings spanned distances of up to 75 feet over what used to be roaring and high-velocity wind tunnels. Horizontal ladders spanned tightly stretched 1/8 inch cables placed approximately 1/4 inch apart over a distance of some 15 feet. Below the cables lay bare electrical lines pulsing with some 25,000 volts of electricity. These were of course tempered by extremely low amperage so as not to kill, and the pulses were more than 20 seconds apart.
Another unique feature and attraction in this maze was the ECMCA, or Electronically Controlled Maze Changing Apparatus. As if 3/4 of a mile of tunnel plus the other hazards noted were not enough, this maze had been constructed to change automatically at random times. Therefore, upon entering the maze, there was really no use trying to memorize where you were or where you had been because throughout the day the computer would constantly be changing the maze and tunnels into something different from when you had begun. Electronic sensor controls and safety doors were part of the system to ensure that no one was caught and killed during a computerized maze change. The engineering and construction of this maze had been the envy of many in the recreational field.
So here he was, Martin, sinking slowly, slowly downward into the depths below. Martin had realized after reading the information regarding this maze, that constantly throughout the day as the maze was in use, scanners and computer aided mapping devices kept track of who entered and where they were at all times. For those in the predicament that Martin now found himself in, specially trained maze technicians were on hand to either help or remove those who dared enter “The Pit.” No one had ever been killed in this maze because of these safety measures. That was not the case with many other mazes that had been built without adhering to the safety guidelines set out by the maze industry. And obviously, Martin realized, that may not be the case today as he had entered "The Pit" "after hours" to satisfy his own "dying" curiosity when in fact the maze had never been designed to be used without all safety features intact.
Martin's motionless body looked like a surprise one might find nestled inside a box of Kix cereal waiting to be found by some eager, excited child.
Slip, slip, scrape!
Martin's finger touched something cold and metallic! The ridges of his fingerprint were just barely resting on the edge of some smooth, metal object. With renewed zeal and adrenaline racing through his veins, Martin's mind flashed back to life! What was it? A metal ball? A nail in the wall? Someone's lost wedding ring? Martin felt the urge to lunge forward and grab at the newfound object, but he knew that that would be futile and stupid. So, keeping his excitement under control like a dam's spillway door holding back millions of tons of water, Martin cautiously and carefully strained every muscle in his body to reach just a hair farther and find out what it was that he had found.
If he had had the ability to do so, Martin would have stretched his fingers to some grotesque length in order to grasp the metal object his fingers were so nearly able to grab. However, being human, and not made of rubber, Martin had to use his mind and strength wisely and carefully. Moving his fingers in rhythmic worm-like fashion, he was able to get a tiny bit closer. Now his finger-nail was touching.
Scrape,scrape,scrape.
Martin's fingernail just brushed the surface of the item. He was so close and at the same time so far away. Martin strained harder.
Stretch...........Reach..................Stretch.............Reach.............. Just a little more. Strain………..Stretch……….Grasp……….Try!
Martin's finger was now touching at the first inside knuckle crease. The top of his segmented middle finger was now resting over the top of the metal object. Instantly, in a flash, Martin's mind assembled a picture of what he was touching! It was the bottom rung of a ladder firmly cemented to the wall. "I'm saved," Martin's mind screamed repetitively! "I'm saved!"
Martin's heart was pounding so hard now that he could swear that the balls resting against his chest were moving too. He could clearly hear his own heart pounding through his ears like some distant African drum beat.
"Careful, careful," thought Martin. "Move ever so slowly and carefully."
Martin knew how close he was to life and death. He hung on the edge like a frail, thin spider web line blowing in the breeze overhanging the edge of an immense and seemingly bottomless canyon. One wrong move, one powerful gust of wind in the wrong direction and he was gone! Martin's index finger, ring finger and pinky suddenly touched the bottom rung! He was so close, so close to freedom, but at the same time so far away.
Careful.......Careful........ Stretch.........Reach........ Touch
.........Strain......... Touch.......... Reach!
Martin wanted to burst out in sheer agony and delight at the same time. He could so easily be free, and yet so easily be dead. Touching the bottom rung of the ladder was like a drowning man just about able to grasp the lifesaver that had been thrown to him. Weak, tired, cold, shaking and almost dead, the drowning man's hand could feel his "life" at his fingertips. He was able to see his life floating inches from his body. He wanted to live. He wanted his "life."
Martin wanted his "life" too, the bottom rung of the ladder. Never had Martin ever imagined that the bottom rung of a ladder would feel so good to touch. He never dreamed that some horizontal, round, metal tube cemented to a wall would mean so much to him. And yet here he was.
Reach......Reach.......Touch........Live.......Slip, slip, shift, drop!!!
"Oh, please God, no! Please, no! Not now, please, not now! No, no, no, no, no!"
Martin's eyes filled with tears. His screams of dismay and utter frustration reached no more than a few feet up and around him in the web of balls. Martin's outstretched hand rested quietly and limply again on spheres of plastic and air. The ladder stood firmly against the wall, waiting......waiting for someone to grab hold and climb.
Martin's body lay lodged among the balls for several hours before he moved.
"It's over," Martin thought. "All over."
He was so close to life, and now all that was left was death. The spider web line was broken, the life-saver gone. He was going to die.
As Martin lay in the balls, slowly slipping, shifting, moving downward ever so slowly, his mind wallowed in pity, self-worth and depression. His last ounce of courage and zeal had fled from his body when his fingers slipped from the ladder in the same way a robber might slip from the scene of a crime. He felt it was all over now.
1/7th of a week later, Martin began to notice a cold, wet feeling surrounding his feet like cement around the bottom a new fence post. At first, he didn't realize what it was. Nevertheless, it only took a few seconds to realize the horror that he was feeling. It was the water at the bottom of the pit. Martin's mind again began to race with charges of minute electricity as the synapses of his brain flashed violently as if they were fireworks. He quickly realized the situation he was facing.
1. If the water were only 5 feet deep, he was okay for a bit as he was 5'8" tall. If it were deeper than that, then a slow, suffocating death would be the result.
2. If he could muster the strength to do so, he might be able to make it under the water and through the tunnel at the bottom. However, that would be a challenge.
3. If he made it partway through the tunnel and ran out of breath, well, the answer was obvious.
4. If he couldn't make it through the tunnel at all, then he would probably die of cold and pneumonia. Overall, the outcome looked very dark for Martin Fleer.
The hours crawled by Martin as if they were slugs. He felt as if he were slowly being lowered into some icy, cold pool of death. He had already considered the possibilities before him. He could squirm and struggle and drop to the bottom quicker, but if the water were too deep, then he would only be hastening his own death. On the other hand, if he let himself down slowly into the sand-filled balls in the water, and it wasn't too deep, he would be prolonging his death if he couldn't make it through the tunnel although being able to touch the bottom. Martin's mind was so confused and scared that his head pounded with excitement and fear. All he could really do was wait. By late the next night, Martin was up to his armpits in cold water. It was also at that point in time that Martin realized the rank, putrid smell of the stagnant waters. He realized that on his arms were thick coverings of slime and mucous of some sort. The smell began to slowly get worse. Now other horrors began to creep into his mind.
"What if I swallow some? What if something, or someone died in here and was never removed? What if I end up being that someone?"
Once again, Martin's chest began to vibrate speedily with the pounding of his tired and frightened heart. His eyes too were so fatigued from trying to peer into the pitch-black atmosphere surrounding him that he finally gave up and let them shut. Either way, he would see the same thing. Therefore, he waited, waited, waited, hoping to God that he could find some way out. Two hours later, the water reached the underside of Martin's chin. The overpowering smell had dissipated now as Martin's nose had familiarized itself with the stench. His body felt numb and paralyzed. Occasionally he would move his fingers and toes just to be sure they were still there, and they were. It's just that the feeling was probably around 75 percent less than it normally would be.
Slip, slip, sink, splash, lap, ooze. Martin's chin penetrated the first layer of scum that floated on the surface of the water. He could feel the gentle lapping of the cold, fuzzy scum and slime against his chin. He suddenly became aware of the overpowering smell again as it pierced the cilia and mucous lining his nose. He writhed in disgust only to cause himself to slip downward another 1/4 inch. The scum brushed lightly against the underside of his bottom lip. Slip, slip,sink, touch! Martin's foot touched bottom! He remained motionless, thinking. Slowly he moved his numb foot around in a small circular fashion. First in small one-inch circles. Then in four-inch circles. Finally in twelve-inch circles. It was true! He was touching bottom! But now what? His ponderings of earlier suddenly splashed back into his mind. So did a little polluted water into his mouth. Tipping his head back slightly, Martin spit violently into the balls. With very little distance for the spit to travel, it landed in front of him on the side of one of the balls. The ball shifted and came to rest, spit side up, against Martin's cheek. Martin, less concerned with spit on his face than with surviving, went back to thinking about what to do next.
Martin thought for a while about his predicament. He remembered that the tunnel was not a long one according to the sign, but still long enough to get caught in. Realizing that any way he looked at it, he would eventually die, he decided that passing through the tunnel was really the only way out. Getting number with each passing minute was enough to persuade Martin to get on with his task which he knew must be tackled. He tried to mentally psyche himself up for the short journey and prepare his body to hold out. Since the water caused the sand-filled balls to have a little more space between them as compared to the air filled ones above him, he was able to move a bit more freely in the water. It still took effort, but it wasn't as hard as he'd imagined it might be. After some 15 - 20 minutes of mental and physical preparation, Martin was ready.
Martin's chest inflated, then deflated, inflated, then deflated, several times as he prepared to hold his breath as he plunged under the water. He knew where the tunnel was, as he had found it while preparing himself for the swim, and he knew about how long it was. Now the challenge was making it through. Again, Martin's chest inflated, then deflated one final time. With that, he took in one tremendous breath, held it, hunkered down into the icy water, struggled through the balls and entered the tunnel.
As he entered the inside of the tunnel, he could feel globs of slime and chunky pieces of debris floating into his face and around his body. He had to mentally ignore these so as not to panic and take in a mouthful of deadly water. Using all the strength he could muster, Martin began pushing himself forward through the thick, plastic soup.
Ten seconds passed.
He had made progress into the tunnel of only about a foot. The muffled sounds of sand-laden balls reverberated in his ears. He pushed forward. His numb and tired hands grasped at the sides of the walls. His fingernails dug deep into the slime covered concrete searching for some kind of leverage and hand-hold. He progressed five more inches.
Twenty seconds.
He was about a third of the way through. His body leaned forward as if he were leaning into a strong windstorm. His feet attempted to bury themselves in the floor as they too searched for traction and a good footing. He moved another three inches.
Thirty seconds.
His lungs were beginning to send signals to his brain asking for oxygen. He could hold out another thirty or forty seconds at the most. But no longer. He moved another seven inches. His hands were beginning to warm slightly, whether from the work or from blood he didn't know. His feet continued pushing him forward, slowly but surely. Balls rattled against his face and head in a repetitive fashion like overweight hailstones being hurled at him in slow motion. He pressed on.
Forty-five seconds.
He was just over half way there. He reached forward. He moved. His feet dug in, and he moved. Five more inches.
"I'll make it, I will," his brain screamed in his head. "I can do it! I can do it! I can do it!," his mind continued to pulse to all his vital organs in an attempt to speed his progress. He moved farther. Again his feet dug in. He moved again.
His lungs were now beginning to feel their limits of contained oxygen and knew that they desperately needed to release the pent-up carbon dioxide which filled them. They began to ache. Martin tried to move faster, but was impeded by the invisible hand of plastic pounding relentlessly against his body.
One minute.
He couldn't hold out much longer. He had to hurry. His mind was beginning to panic.
"Go, go, go, go!," screamed his brain. "I need oxygen. I need oxygen!"
Martin pushed forward. His feet again dug in. His hands reached out and pulled him forward the best they could. His lungs were about to burst, similar to a balloon at its fully inflated extent.
"I can't die!," Martin echoed through his mind. He reached forward. His hand smashed hard into a solid cement wall. Sirens went off inside Martin's body. The sheer terror of drowning flooded through his mind. The agony of defeat hounded his brain's synaptical gaps. His heart pounded so hard that his chest felt as if it were going to disintegrate within seconds. For Martin, a sudden flash of death raced through his mind and body. Frantically he felt the wall in front of him. It was solid from top to bottom.
One minute, twenty seconds.
Martin reached to the right. Solid. To the left. Solid. He stomped his feet. Solid.
"Noooooooo!," Martin screamed silently. He reached up. Metal! He pushed. Nothing! He tried again. Nothing!
One minute, thirty-five seconds.
He pushed again. Nothing! He felt around the perimeter. Just as he thought, it was a door. But it wouldn't open. Again, he pushed. Nothing! Ten more seconds and he would burst. His entire body cried out in sheer terror and pain.
"Oxygennnnnn," his body cried. "Breathhhhhh!"
In a last ditch attempt, Martin swam down as quickly as possible and placed his feet against the door. He pushed with all his might. His tibia felt as if it would snap any second, but his brain said "I don't care. Get us out!" He gave one last powerful push. The door moved. He tried again and the door snapped, flying open into the fresh air above. Martin reached up, grabbed the edges of the doorframe and rocketed through the open hole gasping for breath. He had made it!
Martin lay sobbing on the side of the frame for several minutes. Never had he been so close to death. His body pounded in delight as he drew in huge amounts of fresh air. His body slowly returned to normal. He climbed out of the water and laid down on the floor of the new room for several minutes. Then he opened his eyes.
The rods in his eyes reached out in hospitable fashion summoning the few lumens of light that filtered down through the dark from above. In the faint glow of the late afternoon sun far above, Martin could barely make out an opening overhead. From his perspective here in the room, the hole above looked about the size of a TV screen. He surveyed the room. On the far wall he noticed a ladder. He rushed over to it. He grabbed it and began to climb. Up, up, up, he went. Higher and higher. He knew his freedom was near at hand. After thirty or so seconds of climbing, he approached the top. He stopped, looked up and saw overhead the sunshine coming through an old dirty window. The window appeared to be made up of several small pains of glass. Martin reached up to climb out. His hand struck something hard. It wasn't small pains of glass at all, but was bars criss-crossed over the opening through which he was peering. Not only that, but they appeared to be welded to the frame. Again, Martin's heart shuddered in fear and anguish at this new predicament now facing them.
Practically worn out and about to give up, Martin half-heartedly reached up and pushed on the frame. It opened with ease on two stainless steel hydraulic hinges. Martin hung there, shocked.
"Could it really be that easy?," he thought. He climbed out. He was free! All he had to do now was find his way back out. He looked through the window. Below him lay the entrance to the building, a large green-house style enclosure with several windows facing the sky. To his right was a door. He walked to it. He opened it. A hallway with another door at the other end greeted him. He began to walk to it. His wet, soggy shoes squished and echoed loudly off of the wood and walls. An annoying squeak filled the air with each step. At last he reached the door.
Martin opened the door. About five feet in front of him lay the top of "The Pit!" It stretched some twelve feet in front of Martin. Immediately, his heart began to pound within him. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He looked around. On the other side of the pit was the door through which he had originally come into this room. Overhead was a beam. Having failed to notice it before, Martin at once saw the rope dangling from the beam and securely strapped to the wall on his left. With renewed joy, he ran to it and grabbed it. He gave it a tug. It held. He jumped up and swung across the pit.
SNAP! The rope broke. He fell into the pit just four feet from the other side. He felt himself beginning to sink. He panicked. He squirmed. He convulsed violently in an attempt to reach the wall. He moved forward one foot. He kicked again, and sank. He tried again. He sank deeper. He started to cry. Again he kicked, and again he sank. His hair disappeared beneath the surface of the balls.
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"Daddy, daddy, daddy," cried Tommy. "Daddy, daddy, daddy, come on! Follow me through the tunnel."
Martin's eyes flickered. He lay covered in balls. Sweat rolled off his forehead. His palms were soaked with sweat as were his clothes. He reached up. His hands shot out of the balls that surrounded him. He sat up. His son Tommy stood in front of him wearing a monstrous grin on his face.
"That was fun daddy! Follow me through the tunnels, and then let me bury you in the balls again!," Tommy exclaimed.
Martin, a bit dazed and confused reached out and hugged Tommy.
"What did you do that for dad?," asked Tommy.
"Because I love you," Martin said.
Martin struggled to his feet and stretched his weary, sweaty body. Tommy raced ahead of him out of the ball pit and into the tunnel. Martin slowly followed. He climbed into the tunnel and bumped his head. Tommy scrambled off around a corner ahead. Martin followed.
After a few minutes, Martin stopped to rest. His nose was beginning to run from the allergies he possessed. He pulled out a Kleenex from his shirt pocket. He blew his nose. As he was about to put the tissue back in his pocket, something caught his eye. He slowly opened the tissue. Inside, he found a large glob of stinking, putrid slime and he noticed that the undersides of his fingernails were packed with black, grotesque slime! Martin's heart stopped dead in his chest! Martin collapsed in a heap.
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The distant ringing of the telephone reverberated inside Martin's head. His eyes fluttered. The phone rang again, this time louder. Martin reached out and grabbed it.
"Hello?," Martin wearily stammered.
"Hello Martin," a cheerful voice called. "It's Frank! You comin' over today to help me finish my new maze for the kids?"
"Uh, ya, ya. Okay. Give me an hour," Martin replied.
"Okay buddy," Frank said, "See you then. Bye."
Martin lay there, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. He glanced at the clock; it was 9:37 a.m. He wrestled his body out of bed and walked to the bathroom. As he reached for the door he heard a thump on the floor behind him. He turned to look, but saw nothing. He looked harder. Nothing. He walked back over to the bed. His foot bumped something on the floor. Martin reached down to pick it up. He looked at it. In his hands was a small, round, plastic, sand-filled red ball.
Martin's screams filled the house and drifted aimlessly out the open window and into the cool morning air.
