Events in a Gold-miner’s Shanty
surrealistic
Background
I feel that a passion for the fantastical and surreal has permeated my experiences, inspiring my creative journey. While some of my stories may have their origins in my dreams, others are born of my imagination. In the world of art, the distinction between reality and illusion becomes inconsequential when we weave our experiences and ideas into compelling stories. To question the truth or fiction of a tale is to miss the essence of creativity and self-expression, as the narrative becomes a vehicle for our deepest desires and wildest dreams.
Hi, I’m Zerayn Dreamer and I am opening the windows into the depths of my unconscious, where the fantastical intertwines with the mundane. The boundaries between reality and illusion have become blurred. Your mind is free.
Prologue:
Welcome to a Gold-miner’s shanty!
Nestled in the mountainous terrain of a mining town, our young adult narrator, a daughter of a small-scale gold miner, resides in a humble shanty alongside her family. Despite the lure of opulence and wealth, their efforts have failed to produce any significant prosperity.
Some gold miners in the neighborhood have strike it rich, eventually commercializing their tunnels. As the fortunate few continue to reap the rich rewards of their commercial mining ventures, their opulent affluence stands in stark contrast to the laborers employed within these very mines. Known locally as “tauhan,” these hard-working men toil deep within the cavernous tunnels, extracting every last ounce of precious metal—from sizeable nuggets to the elusive gold dust.
While generations of miners have passed down invaluable knowledge and cautionary practices to prevent the dangers inherent in gold mining, there is no utmost guarantee safety in these high-risk environments. Despite the experience and wisdom acquired over time, accidents do occur, often with tragic consequences. The looming threat of a fatal incident is a haunting specter that lurks in the shadows of every miner’s mind, a grim reminder of the fragile nature of life in this perilous livelihood.
Like a beacon in a dark night, our narrator clings to the faintest glimmer of hope, yearning for a reversal in fortune. Yet, their life outside the mining tunnels is fraught with strange and inexplicable events, each more bewildering than the elusive promise of a massive prosperity. The uncertainty of life within the mines paints a mirage of both fantasy and hope.
Epoch 1: A Tempest in a Remote Island (Nabangongotak)
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of dining with a friend whose presence was nothing short of enchanting. As she glided through her elegant home, a refined grace spoke volumes of her unique character. Her every gesture and movement radiated a quiet confidence, as if she knew a secret that the rest of us could only dream of.
In the presence of her guardians, even the simplest of meals became a feast for the senses, as their warmth and charm infused the air with an indefinable, magical quality.
The next morning, I am awaken with a surprising countenance. I am a little girl again, but I don’t see our shanty. I am on a remote island, with no recollection of my name or any details about my life. The surroundings seemed familiar, yet I am plagued by a sense of displacement and uncertainty.
I see myself in a late rainy afternoon. As the raindrops cascades onto the roof like tiny, rhythmic drums, I stand, mesmerized by the torrents of water gushing down like liquid waterfalls, enveloping the already drenched surroundings in a sea of grey.
The island looks like our shanty, and I live in a simple structure made of galvanized iron sheets and wood. There is a poetic melancholy of the harsh realities of poverty and the nature’s fury. Rainwater runs to the weathered sheets of galvanized iron, flowing like rushing streams and falling in relentless march.
Amidst the cacophony of rain, a distant, faint buzz signals the arrival of a flying machine. My only indication of time was this sound flying overhead.
In the year that followed, my island encounter haunted me like a persistent specter, whispering in the dark, questioning my very existence. Why was I brought to that island? Who sent me there and why? Then came the confrontation, where I was left reeling, like a leaf buffeted by a bitter wind. Her guardian, the one who I thought was my friend, could not even affirm our bond. Perhaps my lack of wealth made me an embarrassment, someone to be kept at arm’s length. Despite their occasional invitations for meals, it was clear that their generosity was a mere façade, masking their true feelings of contempt and disdain. Hence, such left me adrift in a sea of doubt and my identity torn asunder.
Time has spoken to me, through the winds who delivered the message; “Adikan itulok ay kaami-amis dan sika.” I was not myself with him, but rather a lost and impoverished soul, wandering the remote island of my own uncertainty.
So I pray: You, Oh LORD, are close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18
categories
- character building
- Christianity
- Culture and Tradition
- Educational
- Life Stories/ Personal Narratives
- narrative poem by Zerayn D.
- Perspectives (Personal Interpretations of Zerayn D.)
- poetry by Zerayn D.
- random tales
- skill-based learning
- Surrealistic Series of Zerayn D.
- Travel
- Uncategorized
- Zerayn's dailyprompt responses
- Zerayn's Journal of Feelings
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Per-nal 
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