You sit there with your head in your hands, brooding in your own thoughts. From the corners of your vision, you notice a faint light beginning to creep onto the floor. They are accompanied by three elongated shadows.

“Who are you?” comes one of the shadow’s voices.

You rise to your feet, and stare at the three little men in front of you. They remind you of gnomes, or dwarves? Probably the latter, since you are in a mine after all. The first of the three dwarves steps forward, carrying a lantern in his hand.

“Where did you come from, lass?” he asks. The other two harumph and scratch their beards in tandem.

“Neverwhere. Have you heard of it?” comes your response. The first dwarf shakes his head and looks to the other two. They too shake their heads.

You sit back down in disappointment. Even after waiting for so long, you still aren’t in the right place.

As you return to your usual brooding, one of the dwarves asks again, “Well, I don’t know about no Neverweare, but this is a restricted area. Have yourself a permit?”

You turn your head back up, ready with a nonsensical excuse. But the dwarves are no longer there. Instead, you are now all alone in your cave – or rather, a different cave. The walls are slightly mismatched than before, and a few glowing blue stones are embedded in between the rocks. Prismarine? No, their glow is a lot softer. Maybe scheelite, but those are usually red or orange.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. What is the point in guessing some random rocks off the wall? In the next few years, you might just start talking to them.

From all the cuckoos you’ve seen, their sanity usually falls slowly at first before suddenly dropping off a cliff. As if they just wake up one day and are too tired to fool themselves any longer.

Maybe you are getting tired of it too

“This sucks,” comes a voice from beside you. Turning your head, you come face to face with someone else sitting beside you. They look like an old man, but have the voice of a young boy. He is holding a bottle o’ whisky in one hand, and carrying a flaming sword in the other; your eyes are getting dry just looking at it. Feathery wings extend from his back, but one of them looks burnt and torn.

“Howdy do, fellow Neverwearer?” asks the old man. His infantile voice is jarring at first, but you have seen worse. At least he is not talking in blue.

“I am fine, thanks.” comes your curt reply. The man’s eyes flit over your appearance, before returning to the whisky in his hands. He takes a sip, and passes out immediately onto the floor. The scent of poison tickles your nostrils.

You are getting sick of this. How much longer will you have to spend in these excruciating caves? Not to mention that the first Neverwearer you meet in aeons immediately passes out drunk. The poor idiot must have stumbled his way into a cave with half-a-brain.

You close your eyes, praying for a miracle. You would rather be anywhere than here; even Neverwhere would be nice. At least time passes in Neverwhere, but here? You are stuck between a rock and ten thousand other rocks in every direction, where time holds no dominion. No day, no night, not a clock in sight.

You rub your hands together pleadingly before opening your eyes.

But when you do, you are overjoyed; for the first time since forever, your eyes no longer find themselves on rock.