Light peered in from a crack high above, that is what woke me. Looking back at it now and understanding what was happening to me at that time. I think the light should have been one of the last things to have woken me up. However, that was what forced me to raise my left hand up towards it and raise my right to rub my eyelids open. In doing this my vision became tinted crimson, as though I was looking out from behind a break light. It stung, so squeezing my eyes shut I gripped my chest hoping the dry cloth of my tshirt would be able to soak whatever liquid I could feel in my eye. Instead, in a panic, I only managed to claw at my chest. My nails had scraped a dark gunk, then I reached around me trying to plant my hand somewhere but instead only discovered an intense sensation. It rushed up through my leg and into my core. I screamed in pain, realising my spit was too thick to only be saliva. The crimson tint became obvious now, it was blood. I carried on blinking profusely, staring at the ground so that gravity could cleanse the gunk from my eyes. The pain shot up my leg again and I screamed. Something had happened. ‘It must be broken’ I thought. I was too scared to look down, what if it was twisted and warped. I could just imagine how my knee may be facing the wrong way. My shin bone snapped in half or maybe even quarters. If the bone was poking out I would surely vomit, most likely even pass out. The thought made me recollect another from my childhood. Jonathan, he’s name would be an imprint in my mind forever. I told him not to jump, I told him it was too high. He never listened before so it would be hard to imagine him listening then. Of course he jumped, and he didn’t just jump either. He leaped. Hand and fingers spread as his arms and legs were. The first thing to touch the ground was his left leg. I heard the snap from the top of the cliff, then the scream. The agonising scream. Whenever I hear his name I swear to myself that I hear him out in the distance. As though it happened again, only far louder. Like a earthquake you’d hear out in the distance. A low rumble of the past coming to visit me again. Tapping, loud, slow and distinct. It made me open my eyes again but I couldn’t see. The crimson had turned to black and my eyes pained with the opening of my eyelids. I tried it again looking down towards my chest hoping that gravity would relieve my pain. I spat into my hand and rubbed my eyelids. It was a bizarre thought at first, but seemed to help. I’m not sure if I had seen that somewhere before, like on a Bear Grylls show or something but it worked! My sight was slowly coming back to me. Blinking and rubbing simultaneously seemed to be doing the trick. It also took my mind off the pain of my leg. A quiet peace amongst the sufferings of my anxiety. Solitude. It made me calm, but this kind of feeling like most others is short lived. I had to send the feeling out to get it back again, so I stopped rubbing and blinked until the darkness in my vision left me. Then it returned. Reality. The dark cavern let in a beam of light from above and the darkness beyond it was overwhelming. Starting my gaze at the opening of the cavern above, gray rocks faded into a dimmer light where sparkles of the earth danced within. The beam sat metres in front of me on a sharp precipice. It exposed my reality, my fear. However not that of which I had fantasised previously. Instead, my leg was wrapped in something. Blood soaked but thick and of vast quantity. It was what I could only believe to be a thick web. Wrapped around my leg like candy floss on a stick. ‘I have to get out of here,’ I Said to myself. Determined to survive, and to live. The veins in my right leg turned an icy blue, spreading out to the skin around it. The sight made me feel sick. I wasn’t going to survive this. That was the first thought that popped into my head, but then, Another thought followed. A more powerful one. I repeated it aloud. ‘I’m going to live, I’m going to see my family again.’ A modestly loud tapping began again, as though something was creeping. My body stiff and wet from the sweat of my pain. The first thing I saw was it’s beady black eyes, as dark as it’s spiked hair and sharp fangs. I froze. My heart seemed to be the only thing moving within me as it thumped against my breastbone. A fast clicking sound came from within it’s sharp fangs that could only be seen when moved into the beam of light. Perhaps I’d be better off in complete darkness. The first thought I had was, ‘I have to live, live to see my family,’ I remember hearing that in my head and my body became limber again. As though the warm thoughts I had of my family melted me from the block of ice I was in. I remember shouting at it, but not sure what I said. Then what happened? The Journalist spoke to me his rear end almost floating off the end of his seat. Sweating profusely I lost my breath sitting back onto what I thought was a wall behind me. I lay my head against something soft, a pillow? Turning my head I couldn’t make it out at first and took a few seconds for it to reveal itself to me. Webs. Then the huge beast spoke… The journalist gazed deeply at me, adjusting his glasses for a second. Beam, it said that word to me and tilted its face up. The thought came to me again, ‘Hope.’ I’ve never been more determined to live, to get out of this place. The beam was the only way out. I really thought I was going to die. Thoughts came to me in death I never knew I had, thoughts of becoming an architect and creating sustainable homes for people in indigenous areas. Making the world a better place, picking up litter in my spare time, calling my mother, telling my dad I’m sorry and that I love him. Telling people I love them more, be less scared, learn my emotions, figure out who I am! I learnt more in the thought of death than I have learnt about myself in years, or perhaps, it was simply revealed to me. Perhaps I knew the answer all along. An architect? Something I never even dreamed of, something out of my reach entirely now but in that moment that was what was most prominetent in my mind. I had a purpose that stood out, years of trying to figure myself out and that experience had gifted me something beyond anything I have been gifted before. A true sense of purpose. After that? The journalist asked, running out of patience. I blacked out. I remember shadows and then a puff of a foul stench. Like rotten eggs. And after that? He repeated. I woke up. In a helicopter without a single string of web attached to me. The journalist leaned back into his chair, almost dissatisfied with the ending. However, didn’t ask me anything. I learnt to live that day, not just survive. I’m determined now, I have a passion for life. The beast taught me a lot, and it saved my life. The journalist smiled for the first time today then asked, So are you going to become an architect then? A resounded nod had been the reply. There was no other answer in my mind.