1365 - Out of Time and Place (Sian’s story)
Entry posted by jfraser in Sian's Story
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The pickaxe digs into the crevice. I try to twist it but it is so heavy. My breathing comes in wheezes as the dusty air fills my lungs breath after breath. It takes five more strikes for a small chunk of ore to tumble to the ground at my feet. I absently push it to one side with my foot but have to take a moment to try to catch my breath before locking my eyes on the next spot. Just as I start the downswing, the horn blares. I drop the pickaxe and bend to gather my ore.
It is a small stack - master will not be pleased. He moves along the line now, stopping at each worker, counting their ore, complimenting or punishing, marking their tally on their chest with a piece of charcoal. There haven’t been new workers in an uncounted while and each day a handful of older workers have disappeared. There are gaps in the chains that connect our necks.
Master comes to me, frowns, tallies my ore on my breast and applies the switch to my legs but I am too tired and my throat is too raw to cry out. He moves on to the next. I gather my ore in buckets and carry them to the smelter, dump the ore into the pile, then resume my place.
The horn sounds again, and we shuffle in a straggling line to the dining area. I take my place, kneeling in front of a trough. An assortment of wilted lettuce and turnips is dumped in and I force myself to eat, though I have no appetite.
Once the meal is finished, we shuffle to the bathing room. We take turns on the chamber pots, then are chained standing along the wall. Masters douse us with buckets of water, rinsing away a layer of black dirt.
On, then, to the sleeping cell. I kneel on my pallet of straw and wait for master to lock my collar to the ring on the wall with a length of chain, then try to sleep but my rasping breath makes it difficult. Just as I an finally near sleep, I am re-awakened by a touch on my back. I shift my weight back, raising my rear into the air and spreading my legs. I feel master enter me, hear his grunting, press my face and arms into the floor to brace myself. Master finishes with a long groan, removes himself, and I crumble back to the ground. I am unable to get back to sleep.
The horn calls out and I kneel, waiting for master. He comes by presently, detaches the chain from my collar. I stand and wait until all the workers are in line and chained together. We shuffle back to the mine and take our places. I pick up my pickaxe and, when the horn blows, I strike.
The pickaxe digs into the crevice. I try to twist it but it is so heavy. My breathing comes in wheezes as the dusty air fills my lungs breath after breath. It takes five more strikes for a small chunk of ore to tumble to the ground at my feet.
Edited by jfraser
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