The Miner
That's what he is, a miner.
Before he was born, this destiny was chosen for him. By gods, some say. Others call them paths. Roads. Tunnels. But this man had only one. He was a miner.
At the age of 3, he would become a boy, and at 6, his parents would give him schooling. He would be a good boy. Never one for words, or trouble. At the age of 7 and 1/2, he would fight another boy, and at 14 defend another.
At the age of 15, he would grow big. He would work. He would impress the men this first day in the mine. The boy who could dig as a man. He would find salvation here. He would dig. He would set records. And he would dig. Forward, into the depths of the unknown. Discovering dirt. And more dirt.
At the age of 17 he would be one of the best diggers of their own graves. He would be titled as a king. A tank. But no longer a child. He would be responsible. Focused. A man.
At the age of 19 he would meet a girl. A regular, ordinary girl. He would be in simple love with this girl. They would share their moments. Have their poor man's fun. The would like one another. At the age of 21, he would marry this girl. And he would dig. And they would be ordinary.
At the age of 23 he would give the earth his first child. At the age of 27, he would give the earth his second. He would tred that path to the mines every day. He would have stepped in his own footsteps 4382 times. And at the age of 27 and one day, he would have stepped there 4383 times more.
At the age of 34 he would train his second born to mine. He would come home to his ordinary children every day and hug them. And he would come home to his ordinary wife and kiss her. And he would come home to his ordinary parents, proud of their son, and provide them food, and clothing, and shelter.
At the age of 44 he would work in the mines with his second born. They would have excellent work together. He would come home from a hard day's work and his ordinary wife would put dinner on the table. He would have an ordinary family. He would be content.
At the age of 47 his father would die. His family would give him funeral. They would grieve, his mother most of all. And at the age of 53, his mother would die of sadness. They, too, would give her funeral.
At the age of 64 he would have stepped in the same footstep 17,889 times. At the age of 64 and one day, he would have stepped on that spot 17,900 times more.
And at step 20,847, he would die. His ordinary wife would grieve. His ordinary children would give him funeral. At the age of 75, his wife would die of sadness. And their children, too, would give her funeral.
Except, for one day, 15,000 steps ago. As he made step 5,848, he would look across the rye.
And there would be she. The woman who stole his heart and his life. Taken from destiny, this man would now wander. Trapped somewhere separate from where he was supposed to be. In hell, some say. Others call it limbo. A forest. A clearing. But he, the miner, would be forever stuck there, in the eternal grasp of the rye field.
And only she would know what lied in store for him.