The field was shrouded in thick mist; the moon shone through it like faded chalk; the only sounds in the field were from the occasional insects, faint breezes rustling the branches of the trees, and my own heavy breathing, coupled with the wood scratching away at the earth.

“So, how far down did you bury it,” Zoe asked.

My answer was separated – word by word – with each breath I took as I scratched away another small mound of earth.

“I’m … not … really … sure. I’m … just … guessing … really.”

“That’s comforting.”

I ignored her vast chasms of sarcasmic wit, and continued digging.

It took just over 2 and a half hours.

But then finally—

THUD!

The plank hit something hard.

I threw the plank aside and started digging with my hands like a gorram dog.

From behind me, I heard Zoe say:
“Took you long enough!”