Frank was ignorant of his needing a savior. He’d lived in a pit his entire life. There was no life outside the circular brick dungeon his parents raised him. All he imagined of a world outside those walls was an infinite valley riddled with pits where others lived. Food came from buckets attached to a rope, and descended down three times a day. The food, Frank supposed, feel into these buckets from tall trees.
Frank’s rescuer bounded down on a lengthy ladder. The ladder quivered with the man’s sure footing. If Frank ever had imagine a hero, this would not be the man. The Uplifter wasn’t pristine nor noble in appearance. Soot blanketed the Uplifter’s body as if he too had lived in a pit. His eye sockets purpled plum and, if there ever were a glimmer in his eye, it had long vacated. Shoulders sunk into torso sinking into hips, the Uplifter looked less impressive than Frank. Unlike Frank the Uplifter did not bow to his circumstance. The ruin of his deteriorating body was testament to an indomitable soul. Frank comprehended this through the Uplifter’s steadfast eyes.
The Uplifter offered his hand to Frank, “Life out there is harder, but it much more valuable,” he had said.