Story Four

Almost there.

The blistering midday sun beats down on Carmen's back as she leans, panting, against the heavy shovel. Squinting, she peers skyward, watching the three black shapes circling overhead. They must be watching her too. Their telescopic eyes following her every move, studying her as she digs herself deeper and deeper into the red clay.

"Screw it," comes a voice to her right. The girl who looks no older than 12 throws down her shovel, and a thin layer of dust floats upwards and settles on her sweat soaked shirt. 

Carmen stares for awhile, as the teenager coughs sheepishly in the cloud of red dust she kicked up. Another newbie. More and more of them arriving these past weeks, and now children, even. But who is she to complain? This land belongs to no one, and therefore, belongs to everyone. Everyone has a right to come here and dig.

"Here, honey, have some water."

Carmen unclasps the rubber pouch from her belt and tosses it over to the girl. She catches it and gives Carmen a sulky nod.

"What's your name, honey?"