Mirrors

Posted on 01 Apr 2014 @ 5:22am by Reyn Trell

294 words; about a 1 minute read

It wasn't a life he would have chosen as a child. It was not even something he had ever considered before. Somehow, it had seemed a natural choice despite the hardship. Working here, being a miner. He had been a smuggler. He had even considered himself a space pirate at one point. He had been raised to be obedient by his father, to forsake technology and focus on God. And he had rebelled against it. It had led him here. To the mine. Working alongside Cardassians, working alongside humans and other stray species that had wanted to claw some dignity back into their miserable lives. He had managed to stay alive. He had managed to find his place here.

It was still strange for him. At times, he found himself working and all he could think was this: Why.

Why was he so comfortable on this piece of rock when in reality he should hate it all. He should hate how it felt, hate the harshness of the work and the make do and mend mentality. He should hate the conditions. He didn't. And he didn't blame management for it. Instead, he just felt as if it was important, as if what he did mattered more than anything else he had ever done. He attacked it with a zealousness that seemed brutal to himself. He attacked it as if his life depended on him.

And the ghosts? The missing people? Did it matter to him? Did it frighten him? No. Not really. Because everything in life had ghosts. He saw one in the mirror at times, heard it whisper in his ear. It did not matter to him. If he was taken...

Well, it would be it, wouldn't it?

The end of his days.

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