Mole People & The Scent of War


I was undercover and I didn’t know why. I was made to sit in a hole carved out for members; they lived in a lot of wetness—human moles, prisoners. A girl recognized me but didn’t give me away; she wanted to help me. The holes were these steamy barren dirt-walled trenches dug out with wooden grates on top. I was surprised they didn’t smell worse, surprised at the lack of body odor radiating from the men. The girl took me under her wing. She said they were about to come for us but we would try to arrange for me to sit this one out. I had no idea what that meant. The sound of alarms. A typed notice printed from the walls in three different areas and we caught them; it had all of our names on it. Next to my name it said that the team requested I sit out and observe for training. I felt relieved, although still confused. Suddenly I was out exploring the rest of the base. Some man showed me a possible escape route through a broken air vent; however, it lead out to sprawling orange-red-brown dirt mountains/what must have been hundreds of feet dropping below. I knew if I escaped it would have to be well planned. Suddenly I was tapped on the shoulder. The leader. He was short and squat and older and dirty with scraggly gray hair and stubble and dressed in rags reminded me of a rat. He said they really needed me and he was overriding my teams requests; he lead me to them. They, about 25 of them, were busy grouped together at desks mapping out a war plan. I focused in on my resume that the leader was holding—something I had filled out, which I recognized, and it described how much I loved bloodshed and gore and fighting and defined me as a leader of war; suddenly memories rushed back to me—me murdering hundreds with a machete, but it was from orders, if I recalled correctly, it wasn’t because I wanted to; this was a rogue group trying to kill alongside the government and raise in power. They burrowed into the earth like moles and ran a secret killing operation. But they were all here against their will. They were all prisoners. I was terrified. Was I really a killer? Was this really my life? Was I really about to do this? What was I doing here/trying to prove/learning?

Rachel NagelbergComment