Going Down

Every day winch squeals, gears ratchet descending the solitary shaft into caverns of swirled ivory and caramel stalagmites and stalactites, growing toward each other syllable by syllable where words like fireflies are switched on by darkness. There the swift streams of imagination where blind fish swim and shadows shift in the torchlight. Later, clearing the desk, ascending to the present, sometimes only water in my pockets, or pebbles, fool's gold.

Sometimes pink quartz, amethysts, a rock crystal prism mined from midnight that shatters sunlight, spills its secrets across the floor.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK