Spike

By Josh Baltarc:

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

The spike disappeared into the ground, securing yet another plank in place. Great. Only a million more to go. I grabbed another, lining it up.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

I glanced over at George, who was currently reclining against a rock. Typical. Guy never did any work. “Get over here and help me out,” I said. He just grinned and shook his head. “Think you’ll get paid if you don’t do nothin’?” I asked.

“’Course!” he replied. “Them’s the laws. I get hired; I get paid. Don’t matter if I work or not.” It was true, and it was infuriating. That was the problem with this– This whole– I growled in frustration and returned to my work, pounding spike after spike, venting as much frustration as I could on the simple metal stakes. Every day, every week, every year it was the same.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

But then again.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

Did it have to be?

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

No.

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

It didn’t.

///

George was deep in unearned slumber when I arose. He would never feel the spike pierce his heart.