The Stranger

by Kiersten Modglin

Digging a grave is the single worst way to spend a day. Period. Don’t let the movies fool you into thinking it can be done in just a few hours with only one or two swipes of a sweaty forehead. At first, sure, it’s not so bad. You get the first few shovelfuls of dirt, and it feels like everything will be okay. Like this time will be different than last. By the tenth shovelful, your arms start to burn if they aren’t already. You begin to struggle with how to dig, whether to focus on making it wider or deeper, as neither seems to be working well. You lose track of time, your body burns and screams for you to stop, to rest, but you can’t. You’ll have to dig for hours upon hours, six or eight possibly, even when you’re practiced at it. And that’s when the ground isn’t frozen.