12.

It had no value to him other than it gave him something to do all day long.

The summer had been an unmercifully and overbearingly hot one.

The coal shaft, even several feet under the ground,

provided none of its typical cooling, and the trees that surrounded the hole where he lived

gave their usual shade, but they also seemed to enclose him in a cell where no breezes

were permitted. Everywhere, whether above or below ground, seemed to be trying to deprive him of breath that he

didn't have to struggle for.

Moving about to try and find even a temporary, acceptable existence was a constant and exhausting

chore.

But lying perfectly still while he tried to wait the worst out only afforded

him the opportunity to lie in a wash of his own sweat and smell the ever-growing stink

coming from his damp body. It was at the pool where he had come up with the idea. The pool

had supplied him with water every day for more than 15 years.

The pool was also a draw to the animals that he snared each day for his daily meal.

He would not have survived a week much less more than 15 years without it, and aside from

the coal shaft, it was about the only thing he could think

of to be thankful for.

But it was small, not so much larger than a pot that his mother always used for making soap

in, large enough to give him ample water, but small enough that it wasn't so much of a job

for him to break all the ice away

with the rifle barrel when it froze over a few times each winter.

...