The Master of all Wounds

The land Around him

The shack was always dead, even when built, whenever that may be, to this point there is no memory of that time. Dying, the only necessary word to describe the owner, though no one does so, the only human voice is his own, altleast thats what he thought. Islands of rock, looked past so commonly even colour doesn't fit it, seperated by time and air, these ravines only frown. The Giants even keep their distance halting in the distant mist, the remaining clouds quiver around the summits, dawnting from journeys away. Only stars smile here, because of the distance they fly from, this corrpution hasn't reached them, yet. Evolution is extinct and its concept lost, the world he lives in, surrounds him, a mocking glare, for those who take it, this is his home. Though it sounds sinister it is much worse than that, if a word existed to sum up this world, even God would kill the user.

His father, a great victim of the anamosity this world freely gives, a great coward to those conscious he exists, a great hero to his son. Those weak die, those strong also die, those determined die quicker, those cautious live longer, but still die. That's the inspiration of his father, and the only message Jake has lived with. Jakes father also mined, teaching jake all the secrets, tricks, as his whole life was based around it, you could call him a master smith, or a silent requiem.

A gentle breeze, an eye for miles in all directions, and the pale brown rock gather to make home, for Jake. His legs drag along again, across the hard, still landscape towards the same giant, no longer dawnting it looks away in envy. Its same rocks huddle together creating steep, sharp slopes making its ascent impossible blocking the exit. In that slope, facing Jake, a small hole in the shape of an oval was roughly hacked in place with no real purpose Jake and his father used it as the mine, their source of living. The entrance to the mine may be small but in comparison to its content it is irrelevant. In the back of Jakes hand this mines complex structure easily is remembered, almost involuntarily he scales the slow, heavy tunnels. Jake stumbles into the deep, the repeated walls, and its pattern all relate to Jake, their memory is thick in the surface of his mind and forgetting them seemed impossible. Sudden dips and rises shake the passage, these abnormalities spike regret into those unfamiliar, or even fear, with its paths, not that anyone would be. An ordinary being would feel the weight of the air in this maze, an unbearable pain sending weak hearts insane, the contents of this mine gives people a different sense in what death means, not a thing to avoid, but a gift given, that is the thoughts of a human driven by the curse this place hangs. Not Jake. Never. This mine is yet another job, the journey to his destination is absolute and no curse affects his mind, not anymore, this mine is seen as place of hope, no one really knows the true structure of it. A new discovery could be at every corner, is what he thought, his father didn't, strictly forcing his hope back to its lonely corner.

On went Jake, time passed differently here, time didn't pass, it was dragged, as if even time tried to get away. Jake reached his corner. Dragging the pickaxe across the old, worn rock. Styled by his father Jake kept it as a memory, quickly losing his true intentions for it. One swing, his scrawny arms already ached, his skin felt like extra weight while mining , his bones scraping slowly between each other as he swung once more. After the silence of the journey his hits felt like hits to his own head, dizzying himself, clouding his vision with more mist.

Hours pass, not that it matters, Jake can stay here for days, his hunger and thirst are the most reliable clock in the mines. Still shrouded in darkness not even his pickaxe is seen, his own body may as well be invisible, the darkness seems to swallow him, after a few rounds of chewng. Jake holds the thick lump of rock, its surface is cold and smooth proving its difference, the size of a tennis ball this ore is common in the mines. Copper, most of his weapons and tools made of it showing the same dull colour, its disapointing appearance only lowers Jakes head further. He makes his exit feeling tightness in his stomach, another waste, or another oppurtunity, he can no longer tell the difference.