Between a Rock and a Hard Place

 

 

There’s hardly any room between a rock and a hard place. If I try to get away from the rock and move back toward the hard place, I freeze. If I try to get away from the hard place and move forward, the rock presses against my head. Any accommodation I try to find between the two is false so I reject it. Both the rock and the hard place are determined to do me in, annihilate me, so I refuse to opt for one or the other. If the rock were softer than the hard place or the hard place less jagged than the rock, I could choose between them, but anyone who knows anything about either one will tell you the differences between a rock and a hard place are only superficial. I also know I can’t postpone my death by trying to live in that miniscule space between them. Not only is the air thin, it’s full of poisonous gases and particles. The rock inflicts small embarrassing bruises (which I try to cover up), and the hard place is so cold my lungs get congested, despite my feeble coughs. If I could manage to slip out from between them (an impossible feat), the rock and the hard place would have to face one another. But without me in between them, their strength would be so diminished the rock might crumble and the hard place might go soft. Still, there’s no crack to escape through. If I move away from the rock, the hard place moves closer, and if I back away from the hard place, the wall closes in on me.

I’ve tried to distract the rock, even suggesting games we might play, but it’s a very shrewd rock, and when its jagged edges aren’t aimed at my head, they’re aimed at my heart. As for the hard place, yes, I sometimes forget that it’s icy cold, and when I’m exhausted I try to lean on it for support. But as soon as I do that, a deathly chill reminds me of the true nature of the hard place.

I’ve lived like this for the last few months. I don’t know how much longer I can avoid being destroyed by one or the other. The space between the rock and the hard place is getting narrower all the time, and I’m running out of energy. I’m indifferent to my fate. Knowing that I’ll either die of pneumonia or be crushed by the rock doesn’t worry me. But I can say conclusively: between a rock and a hard place is no place to live.