You Grow Old

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By mh-grafik at pixabay.com

I hated my job. A job I had held since I was eight years old. You grow old down there, they used to say. When I was a kid, I thought it meant it was an easy job. A job where I would die an old man. I didn’t know there was more than one way to grow old. The tunnelers knew though.


This 279-character short was written for Twittering Tales # 111

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