The Mines
Amidst the ruined landscape, a small group of miners trudges through the suffocating fumes and toxic gases that fill the air. A greyish-green, sulfurous haze hangs heavy in the air today, blotting out the sky. The haze shifts and moves, like a sentient thing waiting to strike. The gases surrounding the miners were a pale green fog that rolls in the night.
In this toxic gas there are yellow swirls, like clouds of sand and smoke, constantly evolving. They wear heavy self-made suits and simple respirators to protect themselves from the hazardous environment, but even these measures were not enough to prevent death by mining.
The miners dig deep into the earth, battling intense heat and were bearing the cold and the heat, toiling in the mines to recover some rare metals, minerals and hopefully drinking water. Every misstep could lead to toxic gas igniting or a cave-in spraying asbestos in every direction, leaving them broken and mangled beyond repair. The air was heavy with an acrid, metallic taste that lingers on the tongue. It had a sharp sulfuric aroma, and a faint scent of acid and asbestos. When inhaled, it was pungent and slightly acidic on the nose. Sharp and acrid vapors from burning garbage and the dust of pulverized rock. The dust clinged to their faces, smelling of hot sand and dirt, combined with a hint of something else.
Gases from the volcano caused the air to be hazy and addle the miners’ senses. Long-term exposure to the fumes can lead to hallucinations, nausea, and senility. One of the slaves was leaning against a rock wall and mumbling. The air was ripe with carbon dioxide, which causes euphoria and hallucinations. In the haze, the slaves could just be seeing double.
Despite death and starvation, the slaves continued to mine day after day, driven by their hope and faith. The men and women who trudged up the steep mountainside passed through a dead land of gas and dusty gravel. Unafraid of the darkness, they shined the lanterns down into the tunnels, where clots of earth littered the floor. The people whispered to themselves and to the foreman when they emerged, often late at night, their bodies frosted with dust.
In the year 2323, apocalyptic destruction had left Earth a desolate wasteland. No one knew the cause of the catastrophe, yet every living soul remained thankful for the meager chance of survival that had befallen them.