His pick seemed heavier than a few minutes ago, and his arms were going to fall off. His head was in a whirl. The dark dirt pressed in around him. Looking up, he could see the pale sky so far above him. The mouth of this hole must be a mile above him, he thought. He had dug so far, so long, so consistently. Where was the water? He’d been picking away at this bed of rebellious rock as long as he could stand it, and now his neck and shoulders felt shattered.

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