When he awoke, it wasn’t even day yet, though the sun wasn’t far off.
He yawned, almost went outside, and then remembered that he was in some kind of haunted, purgatorial hell, sighed and fried up a quick breakfast.
He’d gotten over yesterdays depressive funk, though, and as he thought about all that he’d found yesterday he started to get really excited.
His first thought was simply to march back downstairs and mine all day…but honestly, that bored him. He knew he’d found a good spot, he was sure he’d find other things. For now, he just wanted to relax and enjoy the day.
I’ll go for a nice little walk, he thought. Today will be easy, simple, safe, and fun. Absolutely nothing bad will happen.
He made himself a little picnic, gathered some torches and some wood, and, after some deliberation, and with a heavy heart, grabbed three of his diamonds.
I’m sorry, he thought. You’re beautiful, all of you. Really you are. But I’m going to need to string you together and bash you into things repeatedly, until you break.
He fashioned the diamond pickaxe without even looking, like he was doing something horrible, perhaps performing exploratory surgery on a pet hamster without a medical license or an animal-appropriate anesthetic.
But when it all came together, when he held it in his hands, felt the weight and ease with which it moved through the air, he was in love. It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wept as he cradled it, like it was his newborn baby and he’d just squatted over a bucket and given birth, after being knocked up in the porta-porty outside a hardware store in the dead of night, somewhere in rural America, in a town where the dream of two cars in every garage had somehow mutated into five cars on every lawn, none of which should work.
Bethany, he said. I shall call you Bethany. Bethany Valentine Clement. We shall go everywhere together. You will be my right hand, and I, your arm, with which you will be connected to my body. I will never lose you, and should someone take you from me, I shall attack them mercilessly, and beat them into so bloody a pulp they’ll have to get a blood transfusion with concentrated orange juice.
He kissed her, nicely first, and then with increasing passion, his tongue working its way around the handle.
“Ow!” He said, drawing back sharply. “You cut me! You naughty, naughty girl. Bad Bethany, bad.” He feigned a scowl, but started laughing, even as the blood dripped down his face.
“I can’t stay mad at you!.”
If the walls had eyes, they would be staring at him with horror, but they didn’t, and so he gathered up his things, left behind what he wouldn’t need, and set off.
He yawned, almost went outside, and then remembered that he was in some kind of haunted, purgatorial hell, sighed and fried up a quick breakfast.
He’d gotten over yesterdays depressive funk, though, and as he thought about all that he’d found yesterday he started to get really excited.
His first thought was simply to march back downstairs and mine all day…but honestly, that bored him. He knew he’d found a good spot, he was sure he’d find other things. For now, he just wanted to relax and enjoy the day.
I’ll go for a nice little walk, he thought. Today will be easy, simple, safe, and fun. Absolutely nothing bad will happen.
He made himself a little picnic, gathered some torches and some wood, and, after some deliberation, and with a heavy heart, grabbed three of his diamonds.
I’m sorry, he thought. You’re beautiful, all of you. Really you are. But I’m going to need to string you together and bash you into things repeatedly, until you break.
He fashioned the diamond pickaxe without even looking, like he was doing something horrible, perhaps performing exploratory surgery on a pet hamster without a medical license or an animal-appropriate anesthetic.
But when it all came together, when he held it in his hands, felt the weight and ease with which it moved through the air, he was in love. It was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He wept as he cradled it, like it was his newborn baby and he’d just squatted over a bucket and given birth, after being knocked up in the porta-porty outside a hardware store in the dead of night, somewhere in rural America, in a town where the dream of two cars in every garage had somehow mutated into five cars on every lawn, none of which should work.
Bethany, he said. I shall call you Bethany. Bethany Valentine Clement. We shall go everywhere together. You will be my right hand, and I, your arm, with which you will be connected to my body. I will never lose you, and should someone take you from me, I shall attack them mercilessly, and beat them into so bloody a pulp they’ll have to get a blood transfusion with concentrated orange juice.
He kissed her, nicely first, and then with increasing passion, his tongue working its way around the handle.
“Ow!” He said, drawing back sharply. “You cut me! You naughty, naughty girl. Bad Bethany, bad.” He feigned a scowl, but started laughing, even as the blood dripped down his face.
“I can’t stay mad at you!.”
If the walls had eyes, they would be staring at him with horror, but they didn’t, and so he gathered up his things, left behind what he wouldn’t need, and set off.
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