The boy was kneeling, hands clasped, eyes shut. His lips were murmuring a plea for rain.
His father pulled him up by his ear.
“You either get to work or you’re no son of mine.”
He kicked the boy into the barn.
“Get that shovel, and start digging.”
How many more holes would he have to dig? He knew there was no water down there.
All day he worked the bone-dry earth, his tongue dry like chalk.
“Please,” he whispered, struggling to swallow.
A heavy cloud covered the sun.
“I don’t believe it,” said his father. “Get back to work!”
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