What can YOU say in six sentences?
Three loud alarms sound at the beginning of each image series, consecutive and from different directions. They are sounds I associate with danger, with nuclear reactors exploding, bomb raids and airplanes going down.
The narrow tunnel is longer than I am, a white coffin lit from the inside though how can I know this with my eyes squeezed shut?
I hold tight a small rubber ball attached to a wire, a "panic" device I have been instructed to squeeze if I experience any trouble. My heart is slamming as a series of images are taken, thirty seconds of Do-Do-Do-Do-Do.... forty seconds of D0/Cluck-Do/Cluck-Do/Cluck.... before a more intense five minutes of BUZZ/DO/Do/Cluck-BUZZ/DO/Do/Cluck.
Another four imaging segments sound off unique pulses, then comes the finale, four minutes of rapid gunfire.
I'm having trouble breathing because my body is a solid block of fear, my mantra continuous: Don't move...Don't move. My index fingers are numb from pressing so hard against the yellow foam ear plugs, to keep out the noise, the sudden alarms.
I work to calm myself, picture soldiers in foxholes, real bullets zipping over their heads. Then I'm flying miles above the Buzz-Clucks, no sound but the wind, beside me an iridescent white bird, Jonathon Livingston Seagull.
Just as I ask if this is heaven, here comes the BUZZ/DO/Do/Cluck-BUZZ/DO/Do/Cluck.
When it's over a man in a lab coat rolls me out of the tunnel, takes my squeeze ball away, won't talk or smile, then I notice the scars on his shaved head, dark purple, fresh.