Pain Spiral

An urban explorer gets more than he bargained for in a seemingly never-ending parking structure

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“Emotion is power. Real, honest to goodness energy. I know how ridiculous it sounds, that’s why it’s so difficult to convince anybody who doesn’t already know. Despite the fact that everybody experiences the immediate reality of it any time they’re intensely happy, angry, sad or whatever else. It’s something you can directly feel is true.

Of course you cannot see it. Neither can you see wind, sound or magnetism. But it’s easy enough to observe their effects. The effects of strong emotion, channeled into writing, painting, sculpting or music are impossible to miss. Nothing of real quality has ever been made except by the infusion of potent emotions during formation.

It’s why there are no skilled artists who never suffered. No interesting people at all who haven’t suffered, really. Suffering is the fire which smelts iron from ore, the hammer which shapes that iron into a blade. It’s the eons of heat and pressure which turn a lump of coal into a diamond. The more of it the better, provided it never exceeds what you can survive.”

I turned over the crumpled sheet looking for more. The back was blank, though. Why leave this? Nothing in the way of directions. No signature either. I smoothed it out, folded it up and tucked it into my pocket anyway. It was the first sign I’d come across that anyone else might’ve been here recently.

I found the coordinates for this place on an urban exploration forum. Took months of participation before anybody would share the primo sites with me. Web communities tend to be like that. If you’re brand new, you’re dogshit. Too many pop in expecting a list of the best urbex sites to simply be handed to them.

Cynical assumptions that they’re some stupid kid looking to tag the place with spray paint prevents it. That’s the practical reason. There’s also a sense of entitlement among the veterans. A feeling that because they jumped through the hoops to prove themselves, anyone else looking to break into the urbex scene should have to do the same.

My light began to flicker. I’d wondered for the past hour if it was really growing dimmer or if I was just imagining it. I’m loathe to swap out the batteries until it’s completely empty, but the meager light coming out is essentially useless. I pop in a fresh pair and leave the empties laying on the asphalt next to the ramp which leads to the floor below.

Big no-no. Pack out everything you pack in, leave it how you found it. But by now, that was the furthest concern from my mind. According to my phone I’d been down here for eleven hours. A thin retractable USB cable continually kept my phone topped up from a battery pack in my jacket, which I originally bought to support my DSLR back when I got into photography.

The floor below is just more of the same. Concrete walls, pillars and ceiling, with a floor consisting of jagged black asphalt. Like any parking structure I’ve ever been in, except that there are no cars. I’ve also not seen any signs with text on them, no utility closets or emergency exits. As if it’s not designed for people, either. After locating the next ramp, I descended another level. There, stuck to a pillar, I found the next page.

“Freud called it psychic energy. That which motivates our actions, which underlies every desire. Being Freud, he of course concluded that it originates from the libido. Something Wilhelm Reich agreed with, though he called the force “Orgone”. Franz Mesmer, for whom Mesmerism is named, labeled it “animal magnetism”.

Our world is a teeming ocean of this energy. Modest exchanges of it taking place between billions of people every day, small scale eddies and currents which occasionally align to form a powerful, concentrated surge. During wars for instance, natural disasters, terrorist attacks and so on.

Even then, once the differential is equalized, a state of peaceful stability follows. At least until another buildup occurs. All of it taking place invisibly, but it’s as real as anything else. To ignore the role of emotion in shaping the world we live in is like striving to understand weather while discounting the sun.”

I came expecting bitter cold, and wasn’t disappointed. I’d dressed for it but still was never properly comfortable. Even though I rarely stopped moving, the cold always penetrated the layers just enough to needle my skin. To keep me on the verge of misery, however resolutely I resisted it.

It wouldn’t be so bad except that my shoes are coming apart. I use a ratty old pair when I do this, as these places tend to be filthy. So on top of the fatigue and shivering, my feet are wholly numb. Wet too, though I don’t recall encountering any water. I reached the next ramp and shone my light down it. I don’t know what I expected. Every floor is the same.

A few floors later, I found the next note. Confusing, but heartening. It must mean there’s a way out. Whoever left these must’ve meant for them to be followed, like bread crumbs. I felt water on my face and wiped it, only to discover it was my own tears. Am I really so weak? I’ve always enjoyed this before, even the times when I got lost. I’ve just never been lost for so long. I smoothed out the page, shone my light on it, and read.