The droplets of water plunk down from the damp ceiling, ploink. Ploink. It sounds like a dripping faucet in a vacuum of silence as we all stand, meters below the surface of the earth, eyes adjusting to the nearly black surroundings.
Ploink. Ploink. Ploink.
It’s cold down here. Far colder than the day I envisioned when I quickly threw on a dress and flips for my day exploring the Karst region and Slovenian coastline that morning when I was picked up from Hostel Celica in Ljubljana.
Down here, the dampness, the dark only magnify my senses. They swirl around me, reminding me where I am …