"Who's the chick?"

Donny glanced up from the creased photograph.  "Amanda," he smiled, then turned toward the wall.

As he went to put the photograph away, he snuck another quick peek.  "I'll be seeing you soon," he whispered, and slipped Amanda into his inside pocket, under his coveralls.

With the photograph out-of-hand, he picked up his shovel once more.  Rhyzium456 was the order of the day -- it always was -- and Donny was one of the ants to get the substance to The Surface.  An ant with a shovel.

Rhyzium was in high demand.  Naturally supply and demand go hand-in-hand, and with Rhyzium residing kilometers below the crust of the Earth, the supply was quite low on the surface.  The people up there went through what the miners called "surface tension"; a condition much more fervid than a want and much more urgent than a need.

But the deep miners spent all day amongst vast quantities of Ryzium.  It was nothing special down here -- it needed to go to The Surface to be processed to become useful -- but the miners benefited from its presence regardless.  The dust suspended in the air from Ryzium had a psychoactive property, and made the work really seem worthwhile.  The Company issued ventilation masks to keep the dust from entering the respiratory system, but few ever used them.  In fact, this benefit was one of the primary benefits of being a deep miner.  This benefit was so well known that some people have renamed the occupation "high mining".

Amanda.  She was special to him.  Just 15 minutes until the 2nd shift is over.

10.

5.

Donny was the first one one the tram.  He hadn't even brushed the dust off his boots before getting in; the attendant glared at him.

Just a few hours now, and I'll be back on The Surface.  Amanda.

Donny took out the photograph again.  How did that crease get there?  It has always bothered him.  Not that it spoiled her looks -- what could?  But after their conversation last night....

The tram rocked to a halt.  He was out of the car and halfway down 16th before the tram doors had closed behind him.  He made a left into the florist's, but stopped to hold the door for an elderly woman exiting.

The florist handed him a bouquet of irises.  Amanda's favorite.  He couldn't wait to give them to her.  Although his excitement waned as he thought about the other night.  Her expression had been so strange.

He left the shop without paying -- he was billed monthly -- and headed down Vine Street, the major road off of which his house was.  He walked more slowly than before, with his face kind of lifted toward the amber sky, as if wanting to become a piece of it.  Only his feet carried him to his destination.

Donny made it to the gate.  He stopped, and although it was never kept locked, he fumbed with it using his left hand, then continued toward the front of the house.


He dropped the flowers on the grave as he made his way through the front door.