He remembered digging it.
A fine June morning, before the heat had built in beneath the blue dome.
Cool work, with just enough sweat to be pleasant, to remind him of the joy of work, of exertion, the simple thrill of using his body.
After the shovel work, the cleanup had been easy; heʼd used his neighborʼs Bobcat to spread it around either side of the path.
And the maple branches blown down by the storm had been perfect camouflage.
For nearly nine months he had remembered to walk around the pit, on his way from the cabin to the stream and back. Then the fog and his cursed absent-mindedness.
Now he lay there in the pit he had dug, leg broken, watching the fog lift away and laugh.
Why in the hell had he even dug this pit? He couldnʼt remember, beyond the fun of doing it.
He wondered if all of lifeʼs pitfalls were self-constructed.
I feel as if I shouldn't be laughing, but I am! That was such a funny story. And the last line is definitely worth thinking about.
Well, it wasn't meant to be humorous, but I guess the absurdity of it makes it funny. It was supposed to be an analogy for self-sabotage, like smoking, for example. It's fun until you experience the consequences. I'm not sure if I could write humor on purpose, but sometimes it ends up that way. Thanks for reading it. :)
I do understand! And you're right, it was the absurdity that made it funny.
Great, surprising and very focused story. Kind of perfect, really.
Thank you! Glad you liked it.