The Broken Shovel
It is tiresome, this relentless scratching business. My hands barely resemble mine, i.e., how they used to be soft and supple. The smoothness of my palm, I liked how it felt on the skin, smoothening away stress of life’s drudgery. Yet, now my hands look and feel as if they belong to another human being. Enough about my hands though. Let’s talk about my handiwork.
It’s quite remarkable really to create something to simple and in such short time. I did not think I’d be able to do it. Really, I feel like I must pay my back even though doing so would hurt my hands. Aah but this pain is delicious; rising slowly from the tip of my fingers, working through the middle of my pain and pulsating right at the very joint of wrists. And the deep ridged callouses, well, they surely have loud tales to tell! There... I have rambled on again.
So about my handiwork, it big, bigger than anything I have ever made. It’s no masterpiece really but what I have achieved in such a short span and in such a secretive way, is commendable. He would have never guessed. Nor did he. How could he? He was hardly ever around the last few months. I had all the time in the world after my chores of course. I hate to see things lying around as if they are stray. Everything has its own place. Take for instance my little project. It took me a whole week. Backbreaking labour too. And many many hours spent working under the sun. I am surely tanned, at least two whole shades darker, dehydrated even. But these are smaller sacrifices. I am so thrilled. However, I will have to redo my finger nails. The poor dears bore all the brunt. So much dirt in them, caked in grime too. And let’s not get talking about how uneven they are right now. Nothing a good manicure can’t cure though. That said, the scratches on my forearm... these will take a while really. They will heal no doubt albeit leaving scars for a long time to come. But look, I had budgeted my time until dawn but really it took me only an hour after midnight to complete it. The poor idgit. He never saw it coming. But I make note of everything.
I can read his mind you know after all I have known him forever. The way he looked at her. The silent communications they thought to be their secret. I tried but they both had it coming. And to think today I managed to stone two birds... really I deserve a drink! No one will ever know. If only the farm chickens could speak... but why would they? They have a new coup, a larger more comfortable one. And I throw in more grains to keep them happy. As for him and she, I hope they rot together. Will he still find her lovely when maggots spill from her nostrils? Or will she still want to steal kisses when rats gnaw at his insides? Who knows. I wish I could see. I am glad the dramatics are behind me now. What did the birch think? That I would forgive them? Ha, fat chance. I mean he was no good for her either. Stupid girl. Her screaming only made my work easier really. Satisfying.
Sadly, the shovel broke, no not by digging that deep grave for two but I gather my bludgeoning is the reason.
If only he knew better than I knew everything.