Nano 19 – Rescue

“Help.” The cry is soft, weak, and whispers its echo along the stone tomb. Nothing responds; nothing stirs. Barely even the air from that forced word. Somewhere in the distance water is flowing—the drip, drip, drip is louder than that single word was.

Beneath a pile of rubble, a body lies covered in black dirt, the only other color the white of the eyes, and the white of the teeth as another pathetic “help” escapes.

In the distance—closer than the drip, drip, drip—the crunch of boots on gravel announces the arrival of more people. Perhaps they’ll get there in time.