Wesley

A character in my novel

Wesley liked to sing as he worked. He wanted to ease the strain on his arms and dull what felt like shards of glass in his knuckles. He hoped his eyes might forget the rocks before him and see instead velvet and warm food, hoped his mouth might remember strawberries and clean water and lose sense of the dust and smoke heavy upon his tongue. But these wishes never manifested, and more often than not his voice was lost in the methodical pounding of the mines.