God’s Work
By Timothy C.
Phillips
For Jason Thompson
It was hot but that was nothing new.
It had been hot the day he arrived, he
remembered.
It would be hot the day that he left.
It would be hot all of the days in
between.
Heat was the fabric of which...
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God’s Work
By Timothy C.
Phillips
For Jason Thompson
It was hot but that was nothing new.
It had been hot the day he arrived, he
remembered.
It would be hot the day that he left.
It would be hot all of the days in
between.
Heat was the fabric of which his world was woven; the gaping stare of the
Sahara was only a week’s walk away, if anyone were insane enough to wish to walk
there.
Thomas didn’t want to walk anywhere, today.
He lay in his hut, motionless as
possible.
Occasionally he waved away the slow black flies that crawled along his face
and arms.
God I hate this place, he thought to himself.
He hated the barren landscape, different from his native Georgia as the moon that
hung still in the dead nights.
He hated the lack of rain.
He hated the slow black flies, and
most of all he hated the awful, dry, roast-in-your socks, heat.
He didn’t hate the people.
Friendly, good-natured, and generous with the few
meager possessions that they had, he genuinely liked them.
He wan
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