Young Writers Society

Chapter 1

Blueman

Life was cyclic, Kwin mused. He got up, he went to work, he mined, he carried, he went home and he went to bed. The routine was infallible for him, a perfect circle of dull, unpaid life. It had been the same for his father, and his father before him right back until creation – he had been told by his forefathers. He was interrupted by the crumbling sound of Magrock that fell at his feet. He lifted and heaved it into the truck beside him. He glanced over to the giant hour glass hanging from the ceiling. Five minutes, more or less and and the trucks would move along the face and carried out to the world.

Who exactly used orange rock was no business of Kwin’s or any of the other Pit Dwellers. Kwin’s job was simple – mine the stuff and load it into the truck, fill the truck or risk a flaying. He had been flayed only once and it had been a great learning curve. He would never again pause to rest or have a lie down, the deep scars across his back were left as a constant reminder of his only purpose in life: fill the trucks.

All across the face were a string of boys like Kwin, men and old men. The three categories of male that Kwin used to assess people. While he was driving his pick into Magrock he would assess any new transfers – how many scars had they got? The fewer the scars the younger they were. Facial appearance was not a factor in the Pit; everyone was black with dust and soot, (Magrock was kept hot so fires were always lit below the face). A new worker was beside him, only a few feet away. He had been transferred to Blesser Town Mines only a few days ago. His skin was blue before the soot had got him– it was odd. Kwin had never seen a blue man before, but it did not deter him so much that he did not muse about the man’s age.The blue man claimed no scars; his skin was clean unlike Kwin’s own harsh, cracked skin. Blueman, as he became known by the old hats, had a fresh branding: 3456.TS. The branding was still clear as daylight, which was strange. Kwin was only sixteen yet his branding had smudged and faded in the work and heat. He was sure Blueman was older than him, much older. He struggled with the work and his muscles had sagged to fat.

Blueman spoke to no one and no one spoke to him – his skin colour and ignorance had made him an outcast. In the Pit you either got on with the job, enjoyed the social side - drank with your fellow slave, befriended each other- or you did the job and spoke and that was it. Kwin made no effort to speak to Blueman, but continued light discussion with Twick on his left hand side. They would leave the male-bitching of Blueman until the drinking afterwards. Pit workers were renowned for bitching. Bitching was an outlet to know at least someone was lower in society that a Pit slave.

The hour glass chimed and Kwin shovelled his last bits of Magrock into the truck, which was no piled high with the glowing orange stuff. The hour glass rang again and the line of trucks leaped into the air and soared into the darkness.

Shift over.

After taking his pick and nothing else, for he owned nothing else, Kwin caught up with Twick who had already started off, relieved for the day to end. They were now in a hoard of men heading for one huge exit where they would emerge into the shower room.

“Blueman say anythin’?” Twick sprang up and looked over head to assess the cue they were in, praying for the door to open – Kwin assumed. Twick liked his beer, waiting time wasted drinking time. Kwin liked a drink or two as well, but his friend was consumed by the prospect of endless alcohol this evening.

“Blueman never says nothing. Needs thrashing to be honest,” He smiled, it was the Pit answer to every problem. Violence. If it wasn’t for fear of flaying there would be brawls to get to the showers first. But, to Kwin’s disappointment there would be no brawls to witness because dozens of armoured slave master’s ensured the total obedience of the men. They patrolled the crowd, allowing a hundred at a time to use the showers, brandishing their truncheons to beat back anyone too eager.

They were almost at the front, Twick and he were pushed forwards into the showers. The ceiling was one huge sprinkler – hot water with disinfectant spraying down onto the Pit slaves. There was soap in liquid form available from ‘squirters’ around the edges. He took some and washed ash from his face and arms. Then he walked over to Twick and used his soapy hands to clean the dirt from his back. It was only manners to help the others to wash. All around there were pairs of men washing each other in the places they could not reach. Twick washed the back of his legs and buttocks then both boys proceeded to the other side of the showers: the exit.

When Kwin was eleven he remembered he used to put on clothes at this point, but now no one bothered. The towns and living quarters were so hot as they were still underground that clothes were not needed at all. Only small children and women wore clothes – and, Blueman it seemed. Blueman walked passed them and dashed down the bank towards the haphazard assortment of boxes with holes in: living quarters.

“Strange one, him,” Kwin said shaking his head. If he wasn’t careful the old pit men would give him a beating. He was surprised the bullying hadn’t already started. It was dark in the hollow, only the quarters had oil lamps. Kwin wished it was lighter, then it was. A faint glow of light trickled in front and it appeared to be coming from Blueman’s hand.

“Hey – want to share that lamp you’ve nicked?” The boys caught up with him and gathered around the light. But there was no lamp, or candle or torch. A ball of light hovered above the palm of Blueman’s hands and sent out white light in all directions. Kwin gasped and Blueman snapped his hand shut and the light vanished. It was darkness again and with the patter of feet Blueman scurried away.

He glanced at Twick who clearly as puzzled and impressed as he was. “That’s devilry, that is,” he murmured, “Useful devilry – what else can the old git do?” His mind burst with ideas, how to make Pit life more comfortable, for himself mainly. If he could do more light tricks, maybe he could make the face a bit more comfortable than relying on firelight.

“I don’t like this,” Twick said. “I don’t like this at all.” They had stopped abruptly, not at the town but in the middle of the hollow.

“You don’t like this? Think what it could do. Light on the face!”

“It’s weird, a blue skinned man comes a long and he can do stuff.”

“We get all skins on the face, it’s a human melting pot –“

“- This is different!”

Why was Twick arguing about it, was the mischievous Twick frightened of Blueman. Kwin let the topic rest but that glowing light remained in his head, he was intoxicated by it. He wondered whether Blueman could teach him how to do it, maybe it was a cheap trick – the blue moron trying to impress him and make friends? Whatever it was, it was worth learning.

Life was cyclic, but sometimes the cycle was interrupted. This was one of those times and deep down he knew that this time, the cycle may be broken forever.

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