With a shovel in one hand and a full bag in the other, the man walked through the woods until he found his usual spot. The soil was still bare in places, marks from his previous burials. Slowly, he made his way to a green patch of undisturbed soil, his steps certain with the familiarity of an old habit.
He dropped the now heavier bag, lost in thoughts. His body followed the motions he had performed many times before. The shovel. To dirt. And out, slowly creating a hole. He dug for a long hour, feeling weight leave his body with each shovel of dirt removed. When he finally looked up, twilight had already come. He put down the shovel next to the hole and carefully picked the bag up. He breathed in. Another one, he thought as he placed the bag inside the grave. His eyes rested on it for a few moments. He sighed, exhaustion filling his body.
Regardless, as he forced himself to cover the grave he had made, his mind wandered to the first time. He longed for that release he had had when he first got rid of one of those. But now he couldn’t live without doing this.
The hole was covered. He looked down, still distinguishing the dirt in his clothes despite the darkness that surrounded him. He looked up, his work done. And without a word, he left, shovel in hand. Certain that he would soon return.