"I thought you died alone A long, long time ago"
The next month went by slowly. Eating him from the inside till he could withstand the pain of isolation.
Norman would sit in his fathers seat in front of the tv with a beer in his hand. Which he never drank. He couldn’t bear the thought of becoming like his father, although he fit the role so perfectly. He was a pathetic ghost of a man longing for his long lost lover to return.The only difference was Norman would never hurt anyone but himself.
The phone never rang and Antony was gone. He’d let him go again and he’d never forgive himself for it.
He stood alone in his dark kitchen, the phone at his ear. No one was answering. He felt heat behind his eyes as he put Antony's number in again.The first thing in a while the insomnia was letting him feel. He couldn’t live like this anymore and he knew it. It hurt far more than any eye wound or cigarette burn.
“Who's there?”His voice was raspy from sleep, he should have none better than to call this late. Not everyone had such fucked up sleep schedule. For all he knew Antony was having the best sleep he’d in months, maybe with a girl next to him.
He was handsome and it scared him at how easily he could slip away to another.
“Antony, it's me.” He swallowed, his throat feeling thick. The other end of the line remained silent for a few unbearable moments.
“Norman, why are you calling me.” He sounded defeated, as if the burden he was carrying was too heavy. There was a palpable sense of exhaustion in his tone, making Norman's stomach twinge with guilt.
“Please, please come see me tomorrow, when I go down there.” His voice was pleading and pathetic and he knew it. “I don’t want to be alone.”He knew what he was asking was too much, Antony was in oxford and he was here.
“Norman go to sleep ok?” By the sound of his tone he knew he shouldn’t argue with him. “At Least try anyway,goodnight Norman.”
“Goodnight.” He replied but the line was already dead.
When he woke up in the morning he found it hard to get out of bed, depression, guilt crushed him like a ton of bricks. He couldn’t help feeling like he somehow betrayed Antony.In Fact, he knew he had, Antony needed a constant figure in his life and other than his mother he was all he had. Well not anymore, university life was probably treating him remarkably.With that smile and all.
Norman caught himself, he was late,he couldn’t dwell on it.
When he arrived he found out he was going down first, along with about 15 others. He watched as they hugged their families and he hated the feeling of resentment towards them. He envied them so intensely. He placed his helmet on, along with a gas mask that made his face itch.
Antony would probably laugh at him at this moment. He nearly smiled but the overwhelming feeling of longing crushed his chest .He grabbed his pickaxe and radio from his locker, then turned around, wincing as the door slammed shut with an obnoxiously loud bang.
He was momentarily stunned were his eyes deceiving him? Standing in silent shock his mouth gaped open slightly.
“Antony.” He managed to say in a thick voice that almost resembled a wheeze. Antony started to approach him, his hands deep into the pockets of those brown trousers he had grown to love.
“I’m sorry, Norman. For a lot of things, actually. For being an ass for one.” He felt his lips lift upwards as he bowed his head,nodding. He looked different. Older.Handsomer, somehow. His hair was trimmed but it still hung low , never falling over his eyes, slicked back and smart.
“I Should’ve..tried to understand your situation more, put myself in your shoes.” Antony was looking down now, obviously ashamed.
“I understand.” He felt stupid. But that's all he could rasp out. He heard him exhale, and looked up to see him walking towards him.
“I bought this radio, it has all the same channels as yours, so we can keep in touch when you're down there.” Antony was shuffling on the spot nervously now, he could feel a great big smile forming on his lips. “Or not, y’know maybe it's stupid.”
“No no, I love it. Uhm, thank you I mean.” Antony met his eyes again, a smile plastered on his perfect face. “You may just be the reason I’m not so lonely down there.” And with that he closed the space between them. His hands found his face as he kissed him passionately. It felt like heaven, wonderful. It would’ve been perfect if a blaring alarm didn’t disrupt his bliss .
He frowned trying to find the source and his eyes locked on a red horn next to the shaft.
“Oh..that's me, I have to run.” he stared longingly into his eyes hoping he could try and convince him not to go, but he didn’t.
“I’ll meet you when I come out alright?” He nodded back at him before heading in the direction of the alarm, a sense of dread creeping up his spine.
He nodded at his fellow co-workers in the lift, however none of them exchanged words. His knuckles were turning white as his grip continued to tighten around his pickaxe. He was so nervous. He tried to imagine what made him the happiest to calm himself slightly. Lying under their oak tree, Antony at his side. Oh how he begged to hear one of his bloody poems right now. He tried to remember the lines of Antony’s favourite but it had been too long.
A peculiar noise coming from above him snapped him out of his desperate daydreaming. Him, along with most of the other men in the shaft looked upwards in search for what it might be. The shaft itself was a metal grid type design so you could see through the stop if you looked hard enough. And then he saw it.
One of the lines had snapped.
They were descending relatively quickly and with every metre or so, he guessed, he would hear a similar snapping sound. He tried not to panic. The main one wasn’t gone yet, that was the only one they needed, right?
Murmurs broke out in the crowd, some completely oblivious to the situation, and some catching on. He gripped his pickaxe tighter, he surely had splinters. They were close to the bottom, he could feel it. And that's when he heard that unmistakable sound, the sound that would haunt his nightmares for years after this moment.
Before he knew, he was plummeting. He dropped to his knees in hope that it would take away some of the impact, but the others weren’t so smart.The metal was cold on his knees and he couldn’t focus. Panic overtook his mind like a starving parasite. He tried to tell them what to do but it was chaos.Screams echoed around him and-
When he woke up the familiar smell of metal invaded his nose. Although he quickly realised it wasn’t the shaft, it was blood.
He could taste it.
He reached for his head and realised he had a large gash on his forehead that was leaking blood down his face. It poured into his eyes and mouth and he desperately wiped it off to improve his vision. He groaned, pushing himself against the wall.His limbs were on fire with pain, something was broken he was sure of it.
Flickering on his flashlight he realised he was the only one awake, and that wasn’t going to change. Body Parts were squashed by the impact, mainly legs. All mushed into a giant pile of human gore. But what disturbed him more was the pickaxes impaled into some of them. Where some of them had unfortunately fallen, they were stabbed into their stomachs or chests ,one man he recognised had a pickaxe sticking out from his exposed skull.
He quickly realised he was alone. He reached for his radio in hopes to call for a rescue team but was instead welcomed with sharp shards of glass and plastic, it was broken. He stood up, steadying himself on the wall of the shaft and walked over to his former co-workers. He rummaged around but quickly realised the impact had obliterated all of the radios.
He fell to his knees in shock. He doubled over, his body contorted in anguish. He was shaking with grief, his hands clutching at his midsection as if he was trying to hold his broken pieces together. He wasn’t getting out. Antony, he’d left him, again. He’d made sure his worst fear became reality.
The scream that erupted from his throat was raw and primal, filled with pure heartbreak. The sound echoed throughout the mine, and it didn’t stop.
It was a month before they sent anybody down again, but it wasn’t to rescue him. He’d been presumed dead the moment the line had snapped, not a second thought. Insanity invaded his mind, he didn’t have enough willpower to keep it out. The walls seemed to close in, the silence broken only by the occasional distant drip of water or the echo of his own ragged breath. Each passing moment chips away at his sanity, the isolation gnawing at his mind like a relentless predator. Haunted by his past and hallucinations that merge reality into nightmarish visions.
He can’t help it, he would tell himself. When his pickaxe would claim another victim. It's in his nature. The blood of his victims would paint itself on him like a reward.
Like father like son, his cohesive mind would tell him.
You killed Twill, why not add a few more to the list of lives you ruined. Might as well have taken your pickaxe and impaled it into the girl's brain.
You're a monster.
“Shut up! Shut up.” He would bellow into the oppressive darkness.
Just think of the tree. He would think to calm his chaotic brain, he didn’t remember why. He would try to remember his name but he would fail. When in isolation there's no one to say your name. Only yourself, if you remember it.
That's when he heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Gripping hold of his rusted pickaxe he followed them.A part of him was excited to add a new victim to the list, another part was dreading it. He couldn’t remember his life before violence, darkness. All he knew was that it was always full of it and it always will be. A dark, lean figure was standing at the opposite end of the mine to him.
Kill him, like you always do.
Like father like son right?
He started sprinting towards them but there was a vast distance to cover, the figure was only a small dot in his vision.
Kill him
“Get out!” He’d scream at his mind as the cacophony of accusations and fears drowned out all rationality. He needed the noise to get out. Desperately he ran forwards to reach them.
“Get out!” Each shout seemed to drain him. As he got closer he realised the figure was speaking to him. He couldn’t understand them, his mind too loud. He tried to focus on their voice hoping it would snap him out of his episode.
“Norman!” They asked, why. Who was Norman, were they down here with him? Did he miss someone? And then it all came flooding back to him. The funeral, the burger place, the tree.
“Would you ever write about me?”
“Never.”
“Why not.”
“It would never be good enough.”
It was Antony. He was Norman. If only he had that breakthrough seconds earlier. His hands felt cold and he quickly realised why. The pickaxe had left his grasp.
And it was buried in Antony's stomach. He felt himself shaking with the realisation. He choked on his own gasps as he desperately tried to compute what had happened but his mind was a blur .
“Antony..?” He tried, but his voice came out a scratchy croak. Despite the situation, Antony had a smile on his lips as he fell into Norman's arms.
“Norman..I found you.” His breath was coming out in short quick gasps, blood seeping out of his mouth. “I fucking did it! They didn-” He was cut short but a hacking cough that sent droplets of crimson onto Norman's sun deprived skin. Antony clutched at the handle of the pickaxe ,still buried in him, as if to keep him steady.
“Why…you didn’t use your radio, why?” Antonys voice was weak but still thick with emotion. Hot tears were streaming down Norman's unkempt face as he stared at his face. He could see the life leaving him as he paled.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry.” His hands cupped his face ,gingerly swiping away at the stream of blood coming from his mouth. “Please forgive me, please.” Antony continued to smile.
“Always.” He fell limp in his arms. Norman watched, waiting for him to take another breath. Or open his eyes and say something stupid like “I fooled you didn’t I?” But he never did.
He frantically searched for his radio, changing the channels to find a station where he could call for help. His fingers were shaking with adrenaline and they missed the numbers. But the stations were all static anyway. He must have misclicked as a song came on after minutes of trying, it was crackling, sounding broken, much like Norman's heart. He listened to it for a moment. Antony was gone. Norman was the reason why. He’d left him again and it seemed as though that was always going to be inevitable, much like a lot of things in his life.
Which came as some surprise
I spoke into his eyes
"I thought you died alone
A long, long time ago"