David McGinness | 3 October 2018



One more pound of mud dug, another foot in the hole


There is gold in this hole. There is treasure in this hole


How did it begin? I cannot quite remember, a mild curiosity perhaps.


Many ignored the hole, some feared the hole, some dug for a time then left.


But I see no cesspool here, only gold.


It shines so bright below the tar, I only need reach it.


Little by little, I chase that Glow


Who knows how deep this hole goes?


I have never seen anything shine so bright beneath a bounty so scant.


There must be gold in this hole


I return home sometimes.


They question my endeavour; they say the hole is empty.


But they don't see what I see, deep in the bowels of fortune.


For there is gold in this hole


One more foot, and I cannot come out. The hole is so deep now.


The steel on my shovel is bent and rusted, drenched and dripping with the thick black tides of salvation.


I look back to the top of the hole; I hear the distant tearful cries, the pleadings to turn back. I glance further up, to the last dim ray of sun before I go on.


For there is no gold back there, not even the promise of Glow.


But there is gold in this hole


My toil has gone on for so long, deep in this inescapable morass of potential. I scarce see the sky or her stars anymore. I try so hard to see some semblance of reflection in the ooze yet I see only black


But my perdition cannot yet be done.


For there is still gold in this hole


There is only black and sludge now. The only colour I can conceive is the one I see before me, gold


My shovel is beyond use; I scratch and claw wildly into the bright lights


I don't hear cries anymore, I can't see the sky anymore. All that exists is the glow and the thin layer of mud between its wonders and myself.


I am nearing the gold in this hole


I see the corpses now, rotting in the hole. Fallen chasers of the Glow.


I try to go on, but the dirt is raining back down on me from above.


Even as my gums bleed from neglect, as my legs give out and sludge comes down upon me, as spirit and soul departs me, I know I can only go on.


For there must be gold in this hole


Please reload

More Stories

Philosophy: Morality is Logical

January 14, 2019

Please reload


October 22, 2018

October 17, 2018

October 10, 2018

Please reload

The Medusa Review

Follow Us

  • Facebook Social Icon
  • Twitter Social Icon