Literature
Lunging from the Grave
In the early morning darkness of West Virginia, a man was flattening sod onto a freshly-made burial mound. He had been at it since parking his rental truck hours earlier, yet he could see a sliver of the sun's light over the horizon, signaling that time was running out. As he stood back up, Jay stretched his worn-out muscles, wiped the thick paste of sweat off his face, and surveyed his work. Oh, thank God, I put the sod on right," Jay sighed with relief. Stepping away from his work, he started to walk back to the truck, ready to head home. Part of him wanted to collapse in the front seat and sleep for several hours, maybe even the entire day. However, he knew that the moment he relaxed, he would accumulate new problems. A patrolling police officer could catch him loitering, or some mythical do-gooder could show up thinking he was in distress, or worse, the mound could collapse, making him have to rework the entire thing. He groaned at the thought of having to fix and reshape it