Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— SOMETIME BEFORE THE SUN ROSE, THE BRUNETTE HAD FOUND A HALF BROKEN SHOVEL. She spent the night digging two graves for the two boys who had lost their lives. It had been less than forty-eight hours and the Earth has already cut the lifeline of two boys. Cleo's head reeled at the thought. The Earth would take and take — maybe it wasn't as beautiful as she first thought it to be.
She stood waist deep in one of the graves, dirt covering her body, smeared into weaving patterns and designs that would forever stain her skin. Cleo kept digging. The boys weren't light enough for her to carry into the graves and the last thing she wanted to do was roll them in. They deserved at least the respect of a well-dug grave.
Her face was dried, her eyes having no tears left to cry. She had run out hours ago before she started digging. That was one more thing the Earth had taken.
Resentment was building up in her body, starting from her toes and working its way up to her mind. She had worked all her life to push it down, to rid herself of anger and resentment. She didn't like who she became when she was bitter and angry — last night was a good example of why.
"I swear that I won't let the ground change me," she mumbled to herself, forcing the shovel into the soft dirt. "I won't become like them — I won't become like him."
She scooped up a pile of dirt, throwing it up over the grave. Her arms stopped aching after the first grave was dug. They were too numb now to feel soreness or pain.
"What're you doing?" Wells asked, appearing behind her.
She turned to look at him, the multicolored sky streaking beautifully behind him. The pinks blended in well with the oranges, coming out on either side of Wells. If she could take a picture, she would've taken one then. He looked like an angel sent down to rescue her.
