Going down the mine.

As I pushed the mine trolley down the rails, I had a sudden flashback of when my Dad went down the dark, damp, dusty mine and I glared at him for leaving me with my strict Mum as a child. But as everybody has to die, he died aged just 30. The reason he died so young was because of all those years down the mine. I remember the awful day he died like it was yesterday. I was right by his side, his breathing got shallower and shallower and then the noise stopped. He was dead. Now as his son, I had to carry on the family business so this is what I am doing.


Going down the mine. — 5 Comments

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