Ooh, down in the dark where the sunlight dies,
Swinging our picks ’neath the barren skies.
The walls close in, the air runs thin,
Each axe swings as we pay for sins.
The light in my helmet flickers on and off; only have so much time. Billy next to me breathes heavy—not much time for him either. Breathe in. Sing—
Ooh, the chain, it clinks, and lanterns sway,
Digging our debt, each strike a day.
Bound to this realm, no dreams remain,
In the heart of the mountain, we wear this chain.
The calluses on my palms… breaking, shredding my skin. I rub my hand across my blackened shirt. I feel the sweat sting the open sores. The inspector approaches.
“Walker,” he places his hand firmly on my shoulder. He smells of liquor and tobacco. “If you can’t meet the quota today, we’ll have to add another week to your sentence.”
“There’s fewer of them. You know that,” I say.
“Rules, rules,” the inspector shrugs. He passes me. “Mine .0000002819 coins a week.”
I hear Billy’s voice rise.
The mountain dust whispers and it calls our name,
Riches for them, freedom for us—but it’s all the same.
We bleed for the system, we break our backs,
Digging crypto coins on this endless track.
I pick up my axe and join him.
Ooh, we long for Vyranthia, where no chains appear,
In darkness we’ll find the path is clear.
Take me to the place where the air sings,
To the City of Whispers, where freedom rings.
The pickaxes—dropping. Everyone around me finishing their shift. Billy nods at me and leaves. The mine’s entrance—dark. No sun. The inspector walks over.
“Boy,” he says, “I got Billy and Wilma on cleaning supplies at the front. My men are there watching. I’ll give you another hour… see if you luck out.” He pats my back and walks away.
When I first started this, it wasn’t so bad. Full energy. Dodged a long sentence behind bars. Not bad. But no one told me how it would be. I’m chipping away now, but I feel the pain all over. The sting of servitude feels beyond justice. And I wonder—at what point does justice become injustice?
But there’s no point thinking more on that. I won’t change minds. Nothing new under the sun… others before me have dealt with this. But what happens when there’s no sun? Is there justice in darkness?
I’m not sure.
I strike the stone. Something bright.
False coin. Just shades of yellow, gold, and streams of red.
Red.
You don’t see that much anymore.
Ruby? No.
I keep hitting the rock. It’s crumbling—hollow.
My pickaxe breaks through. It gets stuck.
I plant my feet, brace against the wall. I pull hard. I fall back, slam into the ground. Rocks rain down.
I stand.
A hole. Just big enough to crawl through. A soft breeze.
How long has it been?
Maybe ten minutes left. My helmet light flickers fast now.
I see a tunnel.
Freedom or death.
Both better than here.
I throw my pickaxe through the hole. Toss in some rocks.
I crawl inside.
Fall to the other side.
I use the loose rocks to plug the hole. Just enough to buy time.
Maybe they’ll notice. Maybe not.
—END—
Treasure Coast, FL and Almería, Spain