[ WP ] A miner finds a pristine wooden door embedded in the bedrock

The dust cleared but he still couldn ’ t believe what he was seeing. “ 32 years on the job, 32 years in the dark, my mind is playing tricks on me ” he thought to himself. And he wasn ’ t wrong, it was impossible not to see things, to feel things. When you ’ re near a mile down your mind does begin to wander, its human nature, your brain struggles to fill in what the other sense can ’ t, thoughts drift and the line between imagination and reality blurs. It ’ s that feeling you get when you ’ re alone in the woods at night, like 1,000 eyes are on you, but there are no eyes, there are no trees, and your 4,000 feet below the very forest you ’ re thinking of right now. 
 
 An eerie awkward silence suddenly washed over him. Mines have a rhythm, a flow. Blow after blow after blow rapping with heavy breathes punctuated by the interment BOOM of TNT. There is always some noise to occupy the mine, at this very moment though he found himself in complete and udder silence. His headlamp darted from corner to corner revealing familiar shapes in an unfamiliar place. It was almost impossible to comprehend, the door was perfect, it looked like a carpenter had just finished it, the only flaw was where he had struck it with his pick. That strike, that damn strike, that single moment destroyed 32 long years of everything that he knew, 32 years of experience, 32 years of hard work, that strike had broken the only constant he had ever know in his life; metal on rock. 
 
 He stared at the door for a long time, looked it over with scrutiny. How many doors had he seen in his life? How many did he walk through on a single day, yet this was the first one he had truly seen, the first one he had ever really looked at. The dark finish was immaculate, the knob wrought of beautiful gold. Nothing like he had in his own home. Home, he suddenly thought, “ what time is it ” he blurted out, receiving nothing but his own labored breathes as a response. “ MARV! ” he yelled, ” JOHN! ” he cried, yet no one responded, he was completely alone, the only light shone from a dim lamp on his helmet. 
 
 “ Where are those guys damnit ” he thought as he stared at the knob. He wondered if it was a prank, but it was to perfect, there was no way someone could have done this between shifts. He glanced at his watch “ 5:05! How long have I been staring at this fucking door? ” He knew he should just head home, he was already past due but he couldn ’ t pull himself away. “ JOHN!! ” he screamed, yet still nothing, his heart began to race as his hand reached for the knob. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest like his pick against the rock, thud after thud after thud. 
 How could he not look, all he had to do was take a glance and he could be on his way, back to his comfortable life, back to his couch, back to his beer, back to his reality, but he had to know now, he was determined, it was consuming him. The knob was surprisingly cold as he wrapped his callused hand around it, far colder than the rock the door was embedded in. It caught him off guard and chilled him to the bone. He looked at his hand, and thought back on his 32 years spent deep below the world far above him, the world that had moved along right over top of him. He pulled the door open and a bitter cold wind enveloped him, hugging him like a mother would when seeing her son return from war, all while a beautiful light warmed his face and made him feel young again. 

