This is Straight Up Symbolism.

It's getting dark. She can hear the shhhh-wish shhhh-wish of virgin corn stalks brushing against her pants, some man-made mixture. Not cotton. Not denim. They're convertible pants. Probably some poly-something or other. Goddammit, what if she died in these? She gets a rush out of this thought, her barely contained dinner rises a bit in her gullet. But that's all. Then the dread sets in again, and she realizes that, as corny, fuck. That's a pun. As cliched.... no, as unoriginal as it may sound, she really is stuck in a corn maze and she won't be able to find her way out of it.

Her phone's dead. It's been dead for the last twelve hours. She wants to take it out of her side pocket and chuck it's goddamn life-less body into the sea of corn, but she can't. She has a hoarder's mentality. This phone could save my life, somehow, even though it will not work unless I make it out of here. Maybe she'd be able to use it for something. Digging a pit. Warding off predators, i.e. coyotes. Killing prey. If she could manage to kill anything with her flip phone, she'd need a fucking prize. She briefly wondered if she could kill herself with it, like the fabled cyanide pill that you bite to kill yourself before being taken over by the enemy, so that when they break you you wouldn't spill all of your nation's secrets. She'd tell anyone anything to get out of this maze of maize at that point. She'd tell her sister about how it had really been her who had lit a fire in their tree house. She'd tell her mom how she had actually dated John for three months two summers ago. She'd tell Danny how she had always been in love with him and how she had secretly hoped for the longest time, for three long, long years, that he'd finally give in to her hints and her plots and her manipulations, and finally decide to kiss her. Make out with her. Fuck it. She'd have sex with him, even though the only thing she found exciting about him were his glasses and their conversations--and conversations can't be sexy. She'd tell her brother how she had spent her entire childhood trying to find a way to make him into a girl. That would explain why his favorite color was still, inexplicably, pink. It was one of the best well kept secrets. That little boys love pink.

He was eight now. He shouldn't like pink anymore. She was eighteen now. She shouldn't be stuck in a maze. But this is what happens when your friends are too busy making out with each other and don't give a fuck about having goddamn fucking adventures anymore. Try to have an adventure by yourself. I fucking dare you. You'll end up lost in the middle of Iowa in the middle of the state's largest corn maze. Yea. Great fucking way to die. Blandest fucking way to die.