The dirt kept falling.
Thud.
Another shovel.
Thud.
The donkey felt the weight on his back. At first, fear filled his heart. His legs were shaking. His breathing was heavy.
"They are burying me…" he thought.
For a moment, he wanted to give up.
He could stop moving. He could let the dirt cover him. It would be easier.
But then something inside him spoke.
"Is this how your story ends?"
He remembered the years he had worked under the hot sun.
He remembered carrying crops, water, and wood without complaint.
He remembered surviving storms and long, tiring days.
"I have survived worse," he told himself.
Another shovel of dirt hit his back.
This time, instead of crying, he did something different.
He shook his body hard.
The dirt fell to his feet.
He stepped on it.
The ground felt slightly higher.
He paused.
"Wait…"
Another shovel came down.
Shake.
Step up.
Again.
Shake.
Step up.
Slowly, he understood something important.
They were not burying him.
They were giving him a way out.
Every problem became a step.
Every burden became support.
Above the well, the villagers were working without noticing what was happening below.
But inside the well, something powerful was changing.
The donkey's fear was turning into determination.
His weakness was turning into strength.
"I will not die here," he decided firmly.
More dirt fell.
Shake.
Step up.
Shake.
Step up.
The darkness was still around him, but now he could see a small circle of light above.
It looked closer than before.
Hope was no longer just a feeling.
It was becoming reality.
The well that once felt like a prison was now becoming a ladder.
And step by step…
He was rising.