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.
Category: Short Stories (Page 1 of 2)
This story does not have a happy ending. This story is a bit of truth about all of us, unless we know The Truth that sets us free from ourselves.
HOLD IT HOLD IT! Before you scroll past this and get to the little snippet of a story let me beg your pardon first. This is, in fact, quiet undeniably, another small story set in wartime. Please, please, I sincerely beg your pardon.
It’s November 17th, 1957. Thats why you hear crying on the street corner. That’s why you see all the mothers in town keeping their children inside. Back in 1939 this was the day that Little Eddie disappeared.
A rough thought of how Eddie might have appeared. But really, imagine him any way you wish.
The sound of boots across stone. The heavy clang and scrape of barred doors. The familiar groan, the tears, the heartache. It was all the same. Day after day. It took eleven steps to get from the cell across the hall to the door leading out. And when you were taken from your cell, there were only two options after that. Death, or life. Which would it be?