HOT MUD

I went to the place last night. The lower chamber of the part I liked so much. 

Subterranean and layered, with trap doors— a dungeon carved into the bottom of a mountain. 

I think they called it “Hot Mud”. It wasn’t what I remembered but it still sounded like a good time.

My friend was there at the entrance checking people in. I wanted to stop and catch up but he was busy with a group of guys and everyone had on black gear. Thick rubber masks and heavy rubber mats. I wasn’t sure how anyone could really breathe.

Steam was coming from the pipes, the floors, and the walls. The maze opened into a huge reservoir and at first all I could see were shadows. My feet started to sink.

Pressed under eyes, on necks, and over chests. They liked the way it felt. They were bathing themselves in it. Obsessed with the camouflage. Swimming in the dark.

Some had been there much longer than others and didn’t speak much.

Soon, we were told that it was no longer safe and the place was being shut down. Most people didn’t want to leave. They kept trying to take it with them in big buckets and metal carts. It kept falling through their hands.

Others tried to run, but they were already covered in it. It was heavy and slowed them down. Some were just too stuck.

I opened my eyes. It was an unusually cold morning and people were lining up for breakfast. 

We knew who had been playing in the mud.

No one really needed to say anything.