Brady Knoll - Pexels

To See You Again

By RosieJSargent | The Writers Bloc | 28 Mar 2023

I live in a land frozen in time underground in an abandoned mine. These tunnels have been empty for years the quiet stays in the canals of the tinniest ears. I have never seen the sunlight, and have never felt the rain. Oh, what I would do to see peoples’ faces again. I miss the small lamps, the hard work and chipping, the horses pulling carts full of yellow stone to make a living. Occasionally a spider might come along that I may befriend, I’d let it decorate me with webs but sadly, it moves on and I am alone again.

The nails in me are rusting and my ceilings are slowly cracking, there is stagnant rubble everywhere, and the bats are always napping. I will never move from nor leave my place, although it may seem to others I have changed my face. I am dated yet far older, it is never warm here nor ever colder. I wish I could see these tunnels full of candlelight and merry men, and hear their stories of scary monsters once again. What under the earth is that? I saw something move, a shadow in the blackest of black, only night and no moon. What could it be? Wait…it’s a white light - silly me! It’s growing closer, who would come down here and climb through and over, tons of rocks, rubble and stone? Who would come down here all alone?

It’s a small little boy with crazy blonde hair his knees are scraped and bruised slightly but he doesn’t seem to care. He is wearing a jumper of an earthly green, oh it feels wonderful to finally see. He has curious little eyes, and small explorers hands he runs through the tunnels searching for some lost map. Wild is his smile as he laughs and shrieks, it echoes off us walls - I wish he could hear me speak. He comes most days and brings his friends they make their own castles and create their own dens. Sticks are their swords and twigs are their wands, they play silly games and sing sweet songs. He knows these tunnels like the veins in his wrist from every blind drop to every hidden twist. He is an adventurer who continues to grow, the older he gets the more he’s alone. We are similar - the wild boy and I, we are the same yet changing slowly over time.

His friends come and go, but only one remains the same, he brings them down here to become untamed. They drink like fountains draining a spring well. Dancing in the embers of youth, laughing as he fell. They all talk for hours on end overlapping each other. I’m not sure what they said, nor can I remember. I’m just glad to have new company, I have heard it all, from fallen empires to collapsing walls. Yet there is something new embedded in a first kiss, the way he fidgets and trembles his lips. The excitement and the nerves all rolled into one, consumed by the rush which he calls love.

Though I think it ended he is always alone, he is a little bit older a little bit more grown. He grunts as he wiggles his way through, carefully placing his feet, one and then two. His palms are soft his knuckles are rough, and he looks like he is about to give up. The lines in his face run deeper than mine, a gorge with grace left with little time. I think he is losing sleep he has bags under his eyes, I watch him weep, I hear him cry. His face is dark with coming age, with a receding hairline slowly growing grey. The wild boy lost to the whistling wind, his story is almost over but another will soon begin. He holds up his torch shaking as he shines the white light on me for the very last time. After this, I never saw him, my friend, oh what I would do to see you again.

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