THE MINOTAUR’S CORRIDOR BEGINS TO CURVE. At first, the change is so subtle that I don’t notice. But soon, the walls and floors have become so concave that the change is undeniable. It’s not just the shape that’s changing, either—there’s a subtle shift to the colour. Are these walls a little less eggshell, a little more pearl? Beige, perhaps? I swear they’re getting darker.
Soon the floor is shaped like a sluice. It feels like a pipe—like water might start flowing between my toes at any minute, seeping through my miserably worn shoes.
At that thought, I notice the incline. I’ve been moving upward, little by little. This is the first time any corridor has offered me a change in elevation, and giddiness overwhelms me as I wonder if I might not, finally, have found the ramp out of this hell-hole.
I pause for a moment and wrap my scarf around the bloodied knuckles of my right hand. It’s a late gesture—they’ve been dust-caked and throbbing for some hours now and I have no water to clean the wound with—but I feel better with my makeshift bandage in place, even if I only have enough cloth to wrap one hand.
I move forward, but as the hallway continues to round out, my progress slows. I notice the tile slowly creeping up the sides of the passage, phasing out the drywall. It makes sense, I suppose, though I didn’t know drywall could warp like that. I wonder where this building’s construction team found curved sheets of drywall in the first place.
Now the walls and floors take on a metallic sheen and the gradual smoothening becomes more disorienting than ever. I soon have trouble distinguishing wall from floor. Even the ceiling is eventually encroached on, the tiles creeping up to the light fixtures, which are also concave. Before long, the hallway is smooth from top to bottom.
I look behind me. The corridor, now round as a dime, seems to stretch on forever.
The hallway continues to steepen. I lean my body forward, hug myself close to the floor, and crawl at a thirty-degree angle on my hands and knees. The going is slow, and as the path continues to curve upward, I’m soon sweating with the effort of not sliding backwards. I frog forward, my limbs splayed out for balance. I pause more and more frequently before hauling myself on.
Finally, exhausted, I brace myself inside the cylindrical corridor and rest my head. The floor against my cheek smells of pennies. I lift my head up again, and look afresh at the corridor I occupy. This isn’t linoleum. It’s copper.
A pipe. I’m in a pipeline.
Fear chokes me then, a fear more rational than childhood worries of a monster in a maze. What was this pipe meant to carry? Am I at risk? Is a thousand tons of water or oil or sewage about to come crashing down on me from above?
No matter how intently I listen, however, I hear nothing but my own laboured breaths. No liquid rushing through metal pipes. No machinery belching to life. So I continue on.
At no point does the pipe become too steep for me to keep going, but neither does it become any easier. The climb is arduous, and when the angle is thirty-five degrees or more, I risk sliding back down at the cost of all my progress. I resolve to backtrack to the ruined wall should that happen, maybe follow the askew ceiling tile one floor up. If I slide back down, I’ll give up on the Minotaur’s corridor and the bizarre pipeline it turns into. But in the meantime, I can’t just give up. Not when I’ve at last found something new in this maze.
Eventually, the incline begins to level out. Though still on my hands and knees, I pick up my pace. The pipe is still perfectly circular, but once again it feels like I’m travelling straight. Then my path begins to dip slightly. Then the decline increases.
Soon I’m bracing myself to keep from falling the other way—tumbling forward into some unknown fate below. I’ve reached the apex of whatever pipeline I just climbed, now it’s time for the descent. I crab-crawl my way forward, feet first.
But if I’m going this way anyway, is a slide really so bad?
I weigh my options for only a moment. Then I tuck my arms to my sides and fall.