a journey

Possible trigger warnings. Speculative piece.

I want you to imagine something.

You are in a small room. Its ceiling is low, its walls are close, and they are made of thick, unyielding metal. There are only hard benches for you to sit on, and you are aware of the closeness of the ceiling as this tiny room bumps and rattles.

You are also aware of the heat.

The few windows are tiny and placed high, they are tight-shut allowing no air to seep through. The interior is dark and muggy. It is already hot enough that the underarms and groin of your clothing is soaked through with sweat. It is hot enough that fluids are rapidly leaving your body through your sweat glands, soaking your flesh.

The air is still and dry. There is no cool breeze to sweep across your wet skin and provide relief.

And it is getting hotter.

The temperature clambers upwards, making the air seem thick enough to cut with a knife. You flap your hands in front of your face, grab the corner of your shirt and wipe your steaming face, shake the ragged ends in a desperate effort to cool down.

You are thirsty. You lick dry lips and swallow hard. Your work your mouth, trying to build up saliva to relieve the unbearable dryness in your throat, the dryness that is like thorns scraping shallow and unrelenting against the tender muscles and ligature. It is hard to swallow, it hurts. It burns.

But it is the only relief you can get against the heat and so moments later, you do it again.
Except this time you can't work up the spit. Your body doesn't have enough fluid left.

It's still getting hotter.

You are alone in this small space, but the walls are creeping in on you. There is nothing to shield you from their heat, no where to hide.

In desperation, you begin to hammer at the walls and shout for help. The rattle and bump continues around you, the thick air drowning out your voice, the solid metal swallowing it up. You don't know if anyone can hear you, but no one is coming. You are angry, you are frightened, you are desperate.

As you battle for attention, for consideration, for recognition of your anagonising situation, your skin brushes against one of the hot metal surfaces of the room enclosing you. It will later be identified as a third-degree burn.

You are being literally baked alive.

Your blood pressure plummets, causing you to become dizzy, possibly even pain flares across your chest. One by one, your vital organs shut down, unable to sustain function in the suffocating heat. One by one, your kidneys, liver, heart, lungs and brain fail. They can no longer support your life.

And you realise, as consciousness begins to ebb away, that no one is coming. No one is going to unlock the door. No one is going to let fresh, cool air in. No one is bringing water and ice. No one is coming to save your life.

Not in time.


Sounds awful? It happened to this man. His name was Mr. Ward. Read his story.