Finn's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Finn reached the north section just after noon, his arms sore from the morning's work. He stopped at the edge and stared. Broken crates spilled rotted straw across the ground. Torn sacks hung from posts, their contents scattered in the dirt. A tipped barrel leaked something dark and sticky. He pulled the cloth rag from his belt and knelt beside the nearest mess. The rag soaked through in seconds, still barely denting the sticky pool. He wrung it out and tried again, but the stain had already set into the dirt. He stood and looked at the whole section, then down at the thin scrap of cloth in his hand. Days. This would take days, not hours. His chest tightened as he counted the crates, the torn sacks, the overturned supplies. He could finish his route and pretend he'd never seen this, let someone else find it tomorrow. But then he pictured the man's nod, the one he'd earned last week for finishing the paths. That nod meant someone had noticed. If he walked away now, the next time that man passed through here, he'd see what Finn had left behind. Finn shoved the rag back in his belt and grabbed the nearest crate. He couldn't fix everything today, but he could make it better than he'd found it. He started dragging crates to the side, clearing a path through the center. When the sun dipped low, his hands were raw and his back ached, but the path was clear and the worst of the mess was sorted into piles. It wasn't done, but it was honest work, and tomorrow he'd come back to finish.