The Catacombs of Paris

As I descend into the ground the temperature follows suit, enticing me to put on the jacket the sunshine above mocked me for bringing. The damp air fills my nostrils as the momentum of the downward staircase pushes me forward. Each step landing eagerly, corkscrewing into the ancient tomb injected under the skin of the earth. Down in the depths you are greeted by the sound of gurgling water and a light giving a warming glow to the massive mausoleum.
We are welcomed by screen printed panels outlining a brief history of the catacombs’ inception. The underground maze was built out of necessity and has hosted a slew of curious visitors. The room is followed by a narrow tunnel into the ossuary. Scores of nameless dead are displayed, stacked piece by piece into an eternal monument.
The moisture of the earth runs across the stippled ceiling of the catacombs creating veins of moss. As it collects the sounds of drips in the distance serve as unheeded warning for the cold drop that falls onto my neck. As it runs down my skin and makes me curious as to how much decay it had touched before me.
The carved corridor speaks to the labors of the past. Six million were laid to rest in these caverns. The admired, infamous and unknown, their remains carefully stacked and constructed into designs in an artistic monument that winds and looms in these veins of memoriam lying under feet of the vibrant city above.
The subtle changes in the orbital cavities, nasal bones and teeth of the skulls tell of the varied faces they used to wear. Ahead and behind the voices of fellow travelers tell their own version of the experience. We are surrounded by the sounds of laughter, shock, and amazement. The conversations of contemplations echo down the halls. The prickles of the cool air and the trepidation linger as I wonder if another drip will anoint my passage.
As we leave we see the markings of government officials that verify the safety of this landmark. Another set of stairs appear. The comfortable ease of dissension is turned on its head as my labored breathing begs me to take a breath; yet the travelers’ expectation behind me drives me forward. The children before me rush up the winding steps with the spry eagerness of youth. Once again the sunlight revitalizes us, reminding us that though we will all end, the world has so much to show us till then.