The Last Clock

Later, that night, George sneaked out of the youth hostel where he lived and headed out of town. After clearing the last houses, he came upon the mine entrance. The night darkness was everywhere, except down in the mine. From the mine shaft, came a spill of golden light, the sound of metal hitting stone, and a putrid smell, a mixture of old sweat and blood. He walked down the earthen steps, passing gas lamps and candles set in tiny alcoves. He stepped off of the last step after what seemed like an hour. Three different tunnels branched off from the circular cave he was standing in. He chose the middle tunnel and walked for a little bit unnoticed, passing small gas lamps and churned-up dirt on the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He had been walking for a while when he ran slap-bang into an emancipated man in rags, with a thin graying beard and a shovel. He turned towards George, eyes blazing, and asked, “What are you doing here, snot-bag?”