The old miner sits next to me. He smiles in the near darkness, his face translucent in the fading torchlight. I try to ignore him. He’s not part of my time. He’s not real.
“They’re coming back for me,” I say.
The old miner smiles and nods. He’s heard it all before. He probably even said it once.
My shattered legs don’t hurt. Is that a good sign? Pain is a part of life.
Waiting to be rescued, at the bottom of the shaft, dust and chunks of crumbling rock spill onto my face.
The old miner holds my hand.
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A 100 word story written by Bruce Arbuckle, inspired by the random word prompt “miner”
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Bruce Arbuckle (felt.buzz)
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