The sun was beating down on them that day like a space-hung magnifying glass search-lighting for human ants. On dehydration’s horizon, a collective of construction workers toiled at a work site, beleaguered with dry mouths and Sahara-strong hallucinations of sparkling oasis.
Manfred was the first to experience a slack in perseverance. “If we don’t take a break, we’re all going to melt,” he assured the crew. “Or worse,” he mumbled, stealing a glance at Anthony’s sun-beaten face and quaking knees.
“He’s right, you know,” Lenny wheezed, stabbing his shovel into the cracked soil, which a summer-long drought had turned into an uncanny semblance of over-baked chocolate chip cookies, sheet-form. “And we’re running out of water, to boot.”
The others needn’t be told more than once, and a symphony of metal clunking ground resounded through the site; brows were mopped in tandem; chests heaved in exhausting unison.
“The b-boss’s not going to be pleased when h-he sees we’re not w-working,” Anthony panicked, anxiety bringing forth the stutter of a five-year-old’s first day of school.
“I wouldn’t worry about that old prick,” Carlos laughed. “Found his body slunched over back behind the scaffolding; been dead at least six hours.” And with that, he doled out what little aqua remained in the boss’s confiscated Hello Kitty SIGG water bottle.
This painting was sold awhile ago, but it is available in pendant-form, which I’m wearing tonight and felt inspired to repost its story. Just so you know.