(Image: Nevit)By Lily Mulholland
It winds down upon itself, doubling back, coiling and uncoiling, seeking out an alternative path, all the while descending relentlessly. Probing, searching for light in the oppressive dark like a subterranean engineer, it tests the circuit, ensuring the current holds strong. Turning back is impossible; on it drives unremittingly, its destination preordained. The pressure builds until it becomes unbearable, like molten flow behind a magma plug. Up and up the needle of the gauge rises into the red. The tipping point is reached and the words surge up his throat, perching, pausing momentarily on the precipice of his tongue. He can hold them back no longer; the lie must be lived.
‘I love you too.’