cream

iv. 

Mosely let Elt run out of jokes. A long enough pause passed, and Elt became aware of a rising fear. Something gnawed at him. Something he heard the other guys talk about, but not something he anticipated having to go through. Mosely saw his face freeze when realization came to it. Elt looked up with glazed eyes.

“You?” Elt asked, choking down the lump in his throat and swallowing the fear after. “I don’t want to. I couldn’t. Mosely, you’re all I got. I can’t…” his squeaking trailed off. Mosely couldn’t fight an honest shame within himself seeing Elt’s eyes shine with tears. They were devoid of recognition that it would be him, not Mosely, going into the pit.

Shame flickered at him when Mosely realized how little he cared. Despite all they had been through, it came down to this. He wiped that away. He had no intention of dying today.

Through snotty, weak sobs, Elt managed to protest, “but I won the toss!” He had to. Mosely knew he had to. They both knew it didn’t matter. Mosely returned an emotionless stare. He wouldn’t insult him with pity, but if he dug inside far enough he could have faked it.

Elt knew Mosely would only make this easy for so long. He laid his gun on the pile of clothes at his feet. The impulse flickered to shoot his way out. He could just wound him, push him in and run. That should work, he reasoned, as long as he’s alive by the time he falls in. Mosely all but heard this. He hadn’t got this far on wits, but he wasn’t fully dense either. Elt felt a metal barrel press against the back of his head as the thoughts formed. His paleness loudly defied the shadows coming down from the waning day. His fragile figure thinned out more alongside Mosely’s bulk and branches looming nearby. 

Elt stopped whining. For once. Not because he wanted to. Not because he didn’t have anything to say. Not because he was afraid of Mosely – even though Mosely’s capacity for violence shrouded his thoughts. He decided to save Mosely the pain of wrestling necessity and desire. Nothing about their lives was fair. Everyone forgot that fair existed from an early age where they came from. They stole a meager sense of honor in this amicability. One final act of rebellion against an inevitability that took no prisoners.

“Goodbye, Elt,” Mosely allowed.  

Elt stepped forward and lost his form to the disgusting bath as he sank himself slowly down. The pink liquid shaped around him. It accepted his body as if they had already existed as one. It made no ripples, and remained as slate-faced as the man who guarded its exit. 

Elt’s form melted into the liquid completely. It began to churn and bubble mildly as the full emulsion took place. Any leftovers less resembled Elt by the second. Death was without question, but moreover, no one had asked. No one would miss Elt. Not Mosely, not their employer, and not the countless others they had performed this send off with. 

Just get it done. Mosely poured cement into the mix. He felt empty in the long wait for it to set. The hollowness abated only by the peace he felt in the quiet of the clearing. Pro’s and con’s, he decided. When dark fell on the meadow, he finished the hole with topsoil and reseeded it for good measure. He dumped Elt’s things in the trunk and trailed golden dust in the headlights of Elt’s Impala. Mosely tried to never think about him again. Air, now cooling from the night, rolled in with the window down. Mosely admitted it was going to be a nice drive back.

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