cream

iii. 

The pit darkened before Mosely in the shade of a shallow hill. Fresh carved by lackeys before they got there. Compartmentalizing was the key to pulling off this type of work.

Mosely almost laughed at his stupid, boyish self. Remembering when he felt a stroke of luck on his first pit job. He thought he was in. He thought he had made it. He learned digging the pits was entry level. It still paid better than anything else they could find in their neglected part of the city. They were kids at Laremy High when first recruited. He did real work these days. 

“There yah go big guy, I gotcha covered.” Elt half whispered, half sang to himself at Mosely’s back. It didn’t curb the sinking feeling in his gut. He eyed the tree line nervously.

Mosely lobbed the sack down to border the pit on one side. He didn’t consider himself sentimental. Maybe he was ceremonial and superstitious in a subtle way, but sentimentality carried affection he didn’t have the capacity for. Even still, he drew the familiar straight blade along the skin of the bag. It was the same knife he used for every one of these jobs. It made a satisfying droop in the blob as unnatural pale pink fluid seeped into the earthen grave. It thickened as it took the shape of the hole.

They waited.

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