[ WP ] On their 18th birthday , it is tradition that young adults must walk through a long underground tunnel as a Rite of Passage . While walking through the tunnel , you discover the supernatural meaning behind the tradition .

You almost ca n't see the end. Standing at the end, it's like staring down the barrel of a gun. But that comparison does n't even come close, not in the least bit. 
 
 A gun is made of metal. It's inanimate. But that place, it's like nothing understandable by the human mind. 
 
 Scientifically, the tunnel is just that. A tunnel. A concrete passage, left behind from the civilizations of the days of old, upon which we structure our society. It is measurable in distance and depth and width, in temperature and pressure. But no one can tell you the way the walls breathe. 
 
 They say it's a rite of passage, that everyone does it when it's their time. But nobody ever comes out unchanged. 
 
 The first step is easy. The second too. You can see the walls stretching forward. You can hear your friends and family, still encouraging you on repeat in the back of your mind. Your thoughts are optimistic and you're headed towards adulthood. 
 
 After some time, the tunnel is a little more foreboding. Darkness shrouds the walls with its thin wispy fingers. The cheers in your head have died down. If you turn around now, you could still see the light of day behind you. But you do not dare look back. Looking back only makes the trek forward more difficult, you will be drawn like a moth to the light, even if you do n't know it. 
 
 This is the point the mind dips. 
 
 The tunnel continues on, past your view, it's own horizon of empty abyss. Your footsteps echo around you off of the cold, unforgiving cement. Maybe at this point, you first realize just how alone you are, just how far from any single person you are, just how much earth there is between you and the light your mind desires. 
 
 The tunnel converges slightly as you walk. It is n't small, per say, but the ceiling is low and the sides are narrow, your head may graze the concrete now and again, your shoulders are cramped uncomfortably tight. The shadows hang from the concrete in inky pools and cling to any surface that passes through. 
 
 Perhaps now you consider heading back, calling it quits, and trying again some other time. The entrance is but a blemish of light on the face of darkness. But for some reason you continue. 
 
 The darkness is heavy now. You can *feel* it. Dragging you in. Swallowing you. Devouring everything. Behind you, the tunnel ends in a pinprick of white hope. You pause momentarily. 
 
 Nothing can prepare you for absolute darkness. Nothing. You may have been in a room before, with the shades drawn and the door closed, then flicked off the light. You may have even closed your eyes and sat in silence inside. Maybe you ca n't see your hand inches from your face. 
 
 This is the point the mind bends. 
 
 You take another step forward. The light on the horizon behind you winks away, or rather, the darkness opens its eye. Your footstep echoes all around you. This is no longer a game. With each breath, you exhale hope. You close your eyes. You open them. You ca n't tell the difference. You belong to the tunnel now. 
 
 Even worse, you would expect silence here. You stand still, hold your breath. The tunnel whispers to you. The wind laughs. Your heart is chasing you through the dark, and gaining fast. 
 
 Time is nonexistent here. The blackness surrounds you entirely. It weighs you down, the air is made of lead. Maybe you scream, maybe you do n't. You ca n't hear it anyways. 
 
 You stumble through the darkness. You ca n't tell where you end and the tunnel begins. 
 
 This is the point the mind breaks.
