I have been trying to improve my modeling skills over winter break, I still have a lot to learn, especially texturing and UV mapping, but I did my best. My brother wrote a short story based on the image:
“Mom, Jenny, mom, Jenny” I kept mumbling it was one of the only things that kept me going in the dark mountain tops of Lyfol. I had to do this for them my mom and my sister, for every 200 pounds of Lyfol I mined they payed me five Lancs. I had to feed them. Mom is to sick and Jenny is too young, they can’t work in the mines only I can. Every time my power pick struck the nigh indestructible metal I knew I was doing the right thing, the only thing I had to work.
“Zaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!” the buzzer on my belt rang out into the inky night, the sound muffled by the dark. It was the only thing I looked forward to other than my monthly visits to my family. Once every 2 hours the alien gas was released into my oxygen supply. It tasted almost like death, if you could put a taste on it. I looked forward to, no I relished the power it gave me the strength it gave. I knew it was a steroid that was probably killing me, but I still took greedy gulps of air.
I struck the rock harder than before with my temporarily renewed strength, the strength of almost 10 men. I was a frail 12-year-old with sunken cheeks. But still the drug gave my frail bones power my weak muscles forte even though my last meal was weeks ago, I demolished a pile of Lyfol. As I packed it into my sack my eye caught a shiny piece of the rock I saw my ragged expression, the wrinkles around my air mask.
The name tag on my pale skin read-, it didn’t matter, in the mines I had no identity. All I remained was a miner. For Mom and Jenny, it’s all I needed to be.
