Here is chapter 1 of the story I have been writing in the last week. Go to my blog page to see the blurb published yesterday:
It was a cold and dark day. Some time at the beginning of March, no one knew. The bones in worker number 752 cracked like a rock in an earthquake. 752’s arms slowly and painfully fell in front of her arm as she violently swung the axe towards the hard stone wall praying that her suffering would end when finally at her delight was the sound of the clock striking eleven. Her work for the day was finally done. She lobbed her axe down to the floor and stumbled out to the clearing.
752 didn’t have a proper name. She couldn’t even remember her childhood, everyone was brainwashed after the end of the war. She had long brown hair almost down to her waist. Her skin was pale and cloaked in cuts and bruises. The air was so cold that is froze the little blood left in 752’s frail hands. She had a skinny and decrepit figure that only just stabilised as she stood.
The strike of eleven was the best time of the day for all of the mineworkers. It meant that their work was over and they could finally rest and eat what little food they had. As she stumbled out the mine to walk to her apartment she looked around at the bleak dirty air. She saw a dull, bleak land full of black smog and never-ending buildings. In the whole land, black and grey reeked everything like a burst of mocking laughter. 752 looked up into what hundreds of years ago was a bright blue sky but now the sky was just white like a cloak of ash. Every time she looked up she saw the sky closer like it was trapping her, and she felt a sense of sadness but she could never show it to anyone because, in this totalitarian world, emotion is one of the only things that is completely forbidden.
752 slowly stumbled to her room seven miles from the centre of the mines. She hated the walk back. She even hated her block. It took 752 over an hour to walk to her block and by the time she arrived she had little time to rest. Every day when she walked back to her block on her near a broken table was a small bag of dry rice, a small bag of tasteless beans and a tiny crust of bread which was all she had to eat in 24 hours.
She had a chair with the table but never sat at it. It was old and broken, even the slightest weight snapped it in two. After she finished her basic rations she made to her bed which was slightly stronger than the chair but she was lucky it could hold her weight. The frame was made of weak, unstable wood and the cloths of her bed felt like sandpaper. 752 never properly slept, she was too scared, if she fell asleep and she wasn’t up for when work started again she would be forced to work for three days straight with no food.
The room was cold and dark as the outside although it was much colder outside. There were no windows and the door didn’t let in any light. When she lay in her bed she felt like a prisoner and she couldn’t bear another second in that bed so she staggered out of her sandpaper bed and limped to the ash cloud air. She stared glumly at the sulfur ash ground and she saw something sticking out the ground, it looked like a metal box, she went to go see what it was.
Fact of the day: The worlds largest plane is larger than two football fields.
Joke of the day: A neutron walks into a pub and orders a pint. The barman says he won’t take his money: ‘No charge’.
Riddle of the day: What is at the end of a rainbow?
If you know the answer to the riddle leave it in the comments below. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading this post and want me to publish the next chapter.