oda;
I let out a huff as I stare at the beam before me. My muscles are sore, and my lungs are struggling to drag in air. A warning that if I don't take a moment to pause, they might stop working.
I place my hands on my waist and look around me. Our people have been working since. Nonstop.
We have been hauling rubble all morning… heaving burnt timbers, dragging broken stalls, lifting whole sections of market shelving back into some sort of order… The work has been an unending pattern, but we can't stop. Not yet.
Sweat drips down my back, and the air that fills my lungs smells like dust and exhaustion.
I shut my eyes and lift my face to the sun in an attempt to gather strength, as the people around me move in a rhythm I can practically hear.
Feet pounding, low curses, grunts, groans… we've been working for weeks, going to a month now, and everything is finally starting to look up.
