The shovel scythes into the cold earth.
Dig. That's what he thinks.
Dig.
The forest is doused in the red glow of the brake lights. Steam from the exhaust curls up into the pines.
Dig.
He shovels clods of dirt off to the side. The hole getting steadily larger. The shadow, darker.
Dig.
Sweat greases his brow and drips down over his eyes. His muscles strain. Buzzing sensation in his fingers.
Dig.
He tosses the shovel aside. The hole is deep enough now. He clambers out, soaked and darkened by soil and sweat. He walks over to the car and pops the boot. He hefts something from within its dark confines.
He stumbles over to the hole, struggling with the weight. He drops it in and it lands with a wet thud. He stands panting. Only a little briefcase. So heavy.
Dig.
He picks up the shovel.
Dig. That's all that matters. Dig.
Paddy Dobson
19th January 2022