Flash fiction with the words: rock, floor, number
|Rivulets of sweat dribbled down the faces and backs. The unrelenting sun made progress slow as the diggers worked in silence, broken only by the sound of metal hitting stone.
From a few feet away, I watched in anticipation and hope. All the surveys and maps had zeroed in on this site.
I cringed every time a worker’s tool clashed with unforgiving rock and prayed he had not hit something valuable.
Many hours went by and the excavated site was deep enough for two men to stand atop each other. Still nothing. The last rays of belief began to escape.
Around dusk, a shout rumbled from the deep. I shot out of my chair and ran to the edge. The digger looked up. His clean white teeth glinted the reflection of the dying sunlight.
He muttered something all the while pointing at his feet. The foreman was now beside me.
“He says the soil becomes soft and gives way.”
“Well, can he dig further?”
“He is scared he will fall.”
I jumped inside, a safe distance from the said soft soil and walked over. Sure enough, the mud was seeping through.
“Bring in the lights,” I exclaimed.
The digger drove the spade in once more. The ground collapsed, and we were staring into a black void.
“Ropes,” I commanded.
I clambered down with a flashlight attached to my hard-hat.
It must have been a good thirty feet before my feet touched solid ground. The floor was smooth.
There was a loud hiss.
In fright, I shone the light in front of me.
It was a serpent, the size of a house. It rose above me in malevolence.
What was more terrifying was the number on its hood.
It was the number of the devil.