We work in the blistering sun and try. Try to live, try to stay awake, and try to keep working. If we don’t, they’ll come; them and their whips will wake us back up and deprive us from life, keeping us from the inside splash of shade for just so many minutes longer. But those minutes are more than enough to drive us to work; those blinding, smoldering minutes of torture of working in the sun, breaking our backs on mowing the ground. So without end, we dig our shovels and scythes into the ground to plant and rake and pull. Without end, without end, without end.
I looked over to Nieero, wondering if his feet were blistering too. His sweat trickled down his dark skin and, feeling uncomfortable watching, I wiped some beads from my own brow. We were both hunched over with troughs in our hands and rolled our shoulders a bit. Nieero looked at me, then I at him, and soon both of our eyes were staring up at that big ball of fire. Our eyes pleaded with the rays that baked our heads, asking it to slow its fall; it didn’t listen. His eyes were blue as the sky, though recently they were clouded with the exhaustion. Mine were a dull, lame green; he always told me they’re like emeralds, beautiful and sparkling, but I know he just does that to flirt. I know they’re hideous. Everyone else had brown eyes. We were different again.
I closed my eyes silently and limped a bit. After thinking, I jumped and caught us, pushing his shoulder a bit to get him back to work. If they caught us staring again, we’d get the whip for sure, especially him. He’s a boy; they get treated different.
It boils me up, and I mean all of it. My voice is high and his is deep; does this mean he’s stronger? My skin is dark, their skin is light; does that mean they’re better? What does their skin give them that mine doesn’t? It surely gives them something; they’re the ones with the houses that have more than one floor, and cool air, and clean water. They get frilly clothes and fancy parties with music and dancing and wine. What do we get? Shacks made of rotten wood, rusty door hinges, and dirt. Lots and lots of dirt. Our water has dirt in it too, and the holes and tears in our clothing is smeared with it. We all sleep in the same room; dirt again, mind you. Stairs are useless to us—why would you build another mountain to climb just to get to bed?—and our blanket of warmth is each other. We seem to be the stronger ones, not needing as much security and comfort to survive, so why are we the lower ones? Some things will never be answered. I've always wondered if they're ever meant to be, or if they're even valid questions at all. Are there even things that make bad questions? Yes, my mind automatically drones to me. Yes, yes. Bad bad question. Bad bad bad...
Again I sighed and realized that I wasn’t doing anything. My heart raced as I fumbled the trowel a bit and my eyes looked around nervously, searching for any dangerous whip nearby. There were none, thank Heaven, and I looked back over to Nieero. He was lying on the ground. He wasn’t moving.
My eyes shot open and I'm not sure my heart was even beating. I looked around once, then twice before dropping my trowel—force of habit—and scrambled to his side, my feet messing up some of the furrows we had made. I brought him up by the shoulders, turning him over and staring at his unconscious face.
“Nieero! Nieero, wake up.” My voice was a whisper, but strewn with urgency. My eyes subconsciously darted around again, dreading to see the rope of black that would put Nieero in his place if he didn’t wake up soon. None so far, but surely they’d be by in less than a minute; they had their routes to take, and our plot of land was soon to be next. Again I turned back to him, my heart jumping when his eyes fluttered, but sinking again when they failed to open. My brown hands trembled as I shook him, not even needing extra force to do so. My eyes darted between his limp body and the road. I pulled him up, slapping his face and getting myself between him and the sun. After a minute which lasted for a century, his eyes slid open and his mouth cracked a bit, letting out a groan. With my heart lurching once more, I got close.
