Golden Hope

His hacking cough echoed in the mine tunnel. He set down his pickaxe and waited for the dust to settle, instead using his empty hands to pull up his grimy shirt to cover his mouth, serving as a makeshift air filter. When the air seemed a bit less hazy in the light of his lantern, he grabbed his pickaxe again, once more releasing settled dust into the air as he chipped away at the rock.

The cycle repeated a few more times.

Finally, a stroke of his pickaxe revealed a glint of gold, and his grim face steadily brightened. 

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This story was written in response to Carrot Ranch’s April 24, 2023, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about the color of hope. Who is in need of hope and why? How can you use color to shape the story? Pick a color, any color. Go where the prompt leads!