I eventually found an opening in the wall, off to the right. Several steps ascended out of the water into a narrow, stone passageway. The walls were barely an arm's length to either side of my body, but the ceiling was too high to make out in the darkness. The trickle and drip of water pierced the deafening silence.
I turned around and took one last look at the marble staircase that beckoned me back to comfort — my warm bed, my colorful living room, my friends and family. If I die here, I die alone, I thought. No one knows where I am. I can still turn back.
But I felt the heavy sword in my hand — the razor that seemed to fit my palm so perfectly. I felt the curiosity in my heart, pulling me deeper into the dark labyrinth. I felt the whisper of the stone walls, chanting 'Do it. Do it. Do it. Go all the way.'
I sighed, turned around, and climbed the three steps into the narrow passageway.
The sensation of freezing air immediately replaced the cold water that dwelled around my ankles just a moment earlier. I held the sword in front of me. It illuminated the next few steps in my path.
Step by step, minute by minute, hour by hour, I wandered through the narrow passage, alone with my thoughts. All I could hear was the loud exhale of my breath, the trickle of water softly running down the damp walls, the sound of my sword's tip dragging along the ground. My arms had grown tired of holding the weapon eons ago. It lazily trailed behind me as I marched forward through the darkness.
I began to lose track of time. How long had I been down there? I didn't know. Every point in space and time was the same: the same darkness, the same stone walls, the same drips and trickles of liquid echoing in my ears.
At several points, I slumped to the ground and felt the urge to turn back. I was tired and hungry. The walk home would take hours. But I kept wondering if something exciting lay just around the bend. I kept wondering if I was on the edge of a breakthrough. I kept marching.
Eventually, the narrow passageway opened into another expansive chamber. I saw a light up ahead. I held my sword in front of me and began running towards it, my heavy breathing permeating the stone-cold silence.
As I got closer, I realized that the light was coming from an open-flame torch held in the hand of an old man with a bulbous nose, creased skin, and grey slicked-back hair. A cigarette lazily protruded from his mouth as he calmly surveyed my appearance.
"Charles Bukowski?" I slowly lowered my weapon. "What are you doing here? I thought you were dead."
He looked at me, took the cigarette from his mouth, and blew a cloud of smoke in my direction.
I coughed and screwed up my face. I didn’t like smoke. It made me queasy.
Bukowski's voice was deep and husky and slow. "If you're going to try, go all the way." He pointed the flaming torch behind him, illuminating a small wooden boat bobbing on the surface of a swamp.
I looked around and realized that the swamp extended all the way over to the chamber walls.
"Do you want me to get in that?" I asked, pointing to the vessel.
Bukowski looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. "If you're going to try, go all the way."
"So cryptic," I giggled. I gathered up my dress and stepped into the boat, which rocked from side to side with my shifting weight.
Bukowski stepped in behind me and placed his torch in a metal socket. He untied the rope, grabbed the oar, and pushed the boat off from the ledge. I watched the smooth water part beneath us as we glided through the black liquid.
"Sooooo...." I mused as my guide stared off into the distance. "Where are we? I've been walking for ages. We must be underneath Sydney Harbor, or out in the ocean near Bondi Beach, right?"
He continued to stare ahead.
"It's a real privilege to meet you, by the way. You're a true artist. How did you first get into poetry?"
Bukowski turned to me slowly. "If you're going to try, go all the way."
"Cool story, bro." I sighed and leaned over the edge of the boat, watching the liquid silently ripple beneath us.
"What are those?" I asked, pointing to the pearls of glowing blue light that lay beneath the water's surface.
Bukowski stared at me. "If you're-"
"I know, I know," I interjected. "If I'm going to try, I'll go all the way." I grabbed my glowing sword, held it over the edge of the boat, and dipped it into the water.
The blue pearls began to move beneath the surface. There was a sudden splash as a grey hand erupted from the darkness and wrapped itself around the end of my blade. A sad face with piercing blue eyes broke the surface, screaming in anguish as her palm bled from the weapon's cruel slice. Her face looked just like mine, but miserable — a shadow of my true self.
I wrenched the sword out of her hand just as ten more palms broke the swamp's surface. My shoulder hit the other side of the boat with magnificent force, rocking the vessel precariously from side to side.
"What the fuck was that?!" I yelled at Bukowski. I bit my lip, trying not to focus on the pain shooting down my arm.
He just stared off into the distance like a stoic Roman emperor. "If you're going to try, go all the way."
"Thanks for the life advice."
He suddenly looked at me with ferocious intensity. Then he spoke, slowly, deliberately.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.
if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.
go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.
if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.
do it, do it, do it.
do it.
all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.
The boat hit the other side of the swamp, jolting me out of a hypnotic trance. I grabbed my sword and leaped onto the slippery stone surface, his words still ringing in my ears.
"Throw me the rope," I said. "I'll secure the boat."
Bukowski stared at me and pushed the oar against the ledge. The boat started drifting backward, out into the swamp again.
"What are you doing?" I asked. "Aren't you coming with me?"
He slowly shook his head. Then he picked up a metal bucket and began pouring its contents all over the vessel. The pungent smell of petrol wafted into my nostrils just as Bukowski grabbed the flaming torch from its bracket and held it in the air. "If you're going to try, go all the way. Do it. Do it. Do it. All the way."
The torch fell from his steady hand, hitting the wooden floor before I could blink.
"No!" I screamed as I lurched towards the swamp. The boat ignited in an instant, engulfing itself in raging flames. I could see a scurry of glowing blue eyes moving beneath the water's surface, congregating towards the fire.
I quickly sliced a chunk of fabric out of my floral summer dress and wrapped it tightly around the sword's blade. I grabbed the shaft with both hands, thrust myself as far as possible over the stone ledge, and extended the weapon's handle towards Bukowski.
"Grab it!" I yelled.
A shadowy hand lurched out of the water and sliced itself on the weapon's edge.
"Grab it!" I yelled again. "Jump and grab the handle! I'll pull you in!"
Bukowski just stared at me, calm in the eye of the firestorm. "If you're going to try, go all the way." Hundreds of shadowy hands clawed at his ankles and his calves and his knees and his thighs and his torso and his arms and his chest and his neck and his head as the charred poet slowly, and calmly descended into the deep depths of black, liquid nothingness.
