She worked underground. Most people thought that was weird, but in her opinion, it was better than working above. True, aboveground had all the amenities: coffee shops, restaurants, movie theaters. But it also had all the people. Hordes of them. Great throngs pressing against you wherever you went, not to mention clouds of exhaust, sneezes, dirt, and dust. You can have it, she thought.
Down here, life was simpler. It was just her. She had carved a little sleeping space in a mine shaft. She had a small gas camp stove. Food wasn't a big issue. Mostly beans and rice. Occasionally she caught a lizard and threw it in the pot. They needed salt, but they weren't bad.
An underground stream brought in fresh water and took away, well, things that you wanted taken away.
Every three months she made the two-day journey to the surface. There she would meet Raston and trade whatever silver she had scraped off the rocks for a fresh batch of supplies. It was too much to carry in one trip, so she had built a storage area in one of the upper shafts of the mine. There was no communication in the lower mine shaft, so when she emerged to trade, she would plug her tablet into a small solar charger and check her email. She didn't get much. Most people don't have the patience to write and then wait three months for a reply.
When Raston showed up, they would share a flask of scotch and she would catch up on the news of the world. But this time was different. She had been on the surface two days, and no Raston. And no internet either, which was odd.
She used the time to set bird traps. After three months of beans, rice, and lizards, some fresh poultry was a treat.
While walking out to set a trap, she saw a crate. The crate had a note. She took the note and read it. It was from Raston.
It said, ”I don't know if I can make our next trade, so I'm leaving you these supplies until I can return, if I can return. Things have gotten a little crazy up here. Nobody knows what will happen. It's the virus. It's pretty bad.”
She tossed a note aside and packed up the supplies. Once more she tried her email, but still no internet. That's a new one, she thought.
She started her trip back into the mine. She was happy to be back underground. Life aboveground was highly overrated. Here, she was safe.
Spiritual questions:
- Where do you feel safe?
- What are you afraid of?
- Why?
This is one of my Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.
April 14, 2020 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: She worked underground which was better than above.
The photograph is by Dustin Blakey and made available through Flickr and Creative Commons, some rights may be reserved.
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