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 industry.
Mosely almost laughed at his stupid, boyish self when he remembered how he couldn’t believe his luck when he first got the pit job. He thought he was in. He thought he had made it. He learned digging the pits was entry level. They found kids at Laremy High to do that. He did the 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.
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 same long, straight blade that he used for each job along the skin of the bag. It made a satisfying droop in the blob as unnatural white and pink fluid seeped into the earthen grave.