“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”
The mine collapse killed several bodies, and the living ones left with their broken families from the broken economy. Without the mine, they didn’t have money to rescue the workers, and Miners Hill became a ghost town.
The ghosts of the miners still work the mine. They work without any rest in hopes things will go back to normal. They work every second of every day so their families have a reason to come back. The hopeless ones are the hopeful ones, and the ones that gave up are gone. To live in the shadow of a murderous hill was too dark for the people outside, but the men who are trapped in eternal darkness stay to work: work to get their families back, or work to get back to their families. They’ve almost dug back up to the surface, out of their collective grave.
Joining another community with familiar faces. Hope I’m not being intrusive at this point! Check out others here!
Another sleepless night after seeing so many fall asleep for eternity. Not enough Trazodone, melatonin, and alcohol in the world can turn my waking mind off. The door is locked, the curtains closed, the fan on, and my bed is cozy, but I have to keep my candle lit to fight off bad dreams. I think it might be keeping me awake.
I can see the flicker of light and shadow on my bedroom wall dance around in harmony from being lit. Sometimes I can see the bright and dark form into shapes, into figures, into people I know-knew. The ghosts are making hand-puppets on my walls. I can see the outline of the mother that raised me, and the father that brought her down. I want to fix them; I want to join them. I can feel the weight of my skin and bones clinging me to this bed like an anchor as I see my parents waltz in the flicker of candlelight and moonlight. A few more pills, a couple more shots, and then I can join them in sleep.