Fireflies

So, so hot.

Perspiration dripped from his nose. Yosef focused on inhaling. In (and out) and in (and out) and in. He swiped a raw hand across the bridge of his nose, flicking dried mud into his eye. Grimacing, he wiped his fingers on his shirtfront and pinched the eye shut until it watered. The dirt cleared.

“Hey!” Lucas yelled from somewhere to his left. “No slacking! Get on it, Softy!”

“Softy’s crying,” another boy informed Lucas contemptuously.

Ignoring them, Yosef hefted his spade again. The shaft caught on a blister between his thumb and forefinger. He breathed in sharply. Everything ached; his shoulders and neck pulsed and the spot behind his eyes throbbed. The scrap of moistened cotton tied over his mouth and nose smelled.