The Willow Tree

Part 2, Chapter 6

Hey Guys! I'm really excited about these next few chapters, they are from Sawyer's point of view. I really hope you enjoy them!!! Please vote and comment, it makes my day! 

Air rushes past me as I stand in a large elevator plummeting deeper and deeper into the Appalachian mountains. The wind ruffles my hair slightly as I enter the place that killed my father, and my mother died of grief soon after. The elevator is a good place to think about life, and death.

I know willow has close to no memories of my parents. she was just six when they died. I was nine so I remember more. My father was a coal miner, so every day he would plunge deep into the earth just as I am now. He would mine away at the rock, dirt, and coal until he would come back up. He would be covered in dirt and dust and my mother would make dinner for him. My mother was the one who would cook, clean, shop, and care for Willow and I. It's hard to have them gone, and it's hard to come down to this place that was the cause of their death. Wrapped and warped in my thoughts, I don't notice when the elevator slams onto rock bottom. 

"Hey," another miner says to me, "we're here."

I switch on my headlamp and walk down the claustrophobic tunnels to the place where I'll be mining today. I take a deep breath, which is the wrong move. Coal dust fills my lungs and I let out a small choking sound. I clear my throat and cut a small hole in the wall and drill above it to create a place to put my small stick of dynamite. 

After hours of letting coal fall at my feet and getting paid very little for it, I load my last piece of coal onto the mining cart and make my way back to the elevator. Nobody ever talks on the elevator, I don't know why. I guess they are all thinking, just like I am. I turn off my headlamp and look at the others doing the same. We're all covered in dust and dirt. Just like my father always was. 

When we reach the 'real world' the sunlight blinds me for a second even though it's dusk. I'm so used to the dark depths. I start to trudge home, hoping Willow has made dinner. 

Even though she resembles my father so much, sometimes Willow seems like my mother. She is only thirteen and my heart breaks knowing how much she has been through. 

Finishing my walk home I open the door and step in. Willow, as expected has made soup, mostly just warm water and cabbage, but it's all we have to eat. We only have a few ways to make money though. She knits until her hands bleed every day, and I mine.