• One Shot


    It was another black day. Dim lamplight wafted eerily over the earthen huts of Little Tunmar. Trina stared lifelessly out her lone window at the greasy miners and gatherers trundling down the numerous dark shafts in every direction. She stands, groggily shaking the sleepiness so pervasive in her society. Soon, the farmers will be back with their daily helping of tasteless yellow moss and minerals taken from the rock fields. Her family will sit down, barely awake, barely talking, then go in search of any usable resource. Trina will find the one worthwhile feature of this dark and barren wasteland: talking to Bore.

    “We're like some incredibly boring virus, expanding tunnels for no reason at all!” she screams at her best friend, sitting in the ill-used conference room at tunnel D. No need for government mandates and meetings when the goals are single-minded and the laws are unchanged for centuries. Bore sits and listens to the familiar ramblings with a shy smile, knowing the futility of stopping her. There are few children in Tunmar, and the unfortunately-named Bore is even paler and less popular than Trina. He simply waits, swallows every cynical comment that rises to his throat, and waits for her to run out of steam. Today, it seemed she wouldn't.

    “I mean, every day, we do the same things, barely surviving on stupid moss and stupid stagnant pools under this stupid rock like worms, when there is this other place above us our grandparents lived their lives with fresh food and water, with probably hundreds of other people! It isn't fair!” Trina yells, then collapses in a heap from exhaustion. “If I may?”, asks Bore carefully. She nods, panting. “Believe it or not, we have a good life here. We have no disease, plenty of nutrition, shelter, all the basic needs for a living being. Our parents love us, our teachers teach us; we have everything we need.”

    Wordlessly, she reached into her backpack. She carefully lay the dusty tome on the cool clay surface. From the wearing on the edges to the dents on the hard cover, Bore knew this was a object from far above-ground. He also knew that it was stolen, possibly from an elder, because no commoner would be allowed to have this. It was a world atlas. Bore bit his tongue as they sat in fearful silence. Still now words would not escape his lips a he cracked open the musty, gold-colored cover. They trembled simultaneously as both their fingers traced the borders of the swirling blue and green masses. Neither had ever thought of the notion of a supreme deity, but today they knew that this glorious map, with no sign of their entire village, was as close to God as could be seen.

    “You can't,” Bore said quickly as she hastily returned the book to her pack. He had seen the signs of Trina's rebellion before, but now she had proof of a greater cause. “They'll kill you like they've done with the others. No one has ever come back alive from the surface. We need you here!” He grabbed her hand, preventing her exit from the cavern. “I need you. Say something, dammit!” In response, she pulled him roughly off his stone-hewn seat and drug him, dumbfounded, down the conference hall. “Fine,” she smirked, “You're coming with me.”

    Bore was pacing the hut determinedly as the stubborn oaf packed her belongings. He was sure that her family would come back from mining any moment to see why they weren't at group learning, and know immediately that she had the Madness. With any error on his part he would catch it as well. At least she had enough sanity left to prepare accordingly: her pack contained a mining helmet with extra charge-stones, gatherer's tools, a first aid kit, writing coal and parchment moss for map-making, and a reinforced net. Actually, there were two of each in two separate rucksacks, but Bore had too many thoughts in his mind to accept the mental breakdown that image would bring. Before he could think of a reason to stop her as stupid as Trina was acting, she was finished. Turning, she asked “Now, give me one good reason I shouldn't give up this bug-infested burrow to live free with the people of the surface?”

    Thinking back, the disease must have start spreading even then. At learning group, the adults consulted books and gave the information to the children. At first the small ones were upset by this way of life. Yet, they soon seemed complacent, content to take the information given without question. Teachers of wisdom said that it was good to mind the elders, for they knew all, and would bring the light to those who had to live underground. The role of sub-dwellers was to obey and work to provide the necessities to their family, to live easy lives. Only the two outcasts questioned these motives.

    What is the price of free information? The old ones had lives completely taken from above-ground dwellings; wooden chairs and glass figurines, moldy paintings and rusty jewelry. They were told to forget the past, for they lived the simple and safe lives of the subterranean. But physical objects lead to something they could never destroy completely: the thirst for knowledge. This was a motivation most peculiar in Little Tunmar, and was highly regulated. Staring at his childhood friend, Bore sighed, knowing curiosity had won his life. They both slung their packs heavily across their shoulders, and strode quickly down the dark Forgotten Alley with no looking back, oblivious to the piercing eyes in the gloom.