The Plan

It’s an unseasonably beautiful day. The picture-perfect sky looks straight out of a Renoir masterpiece. However, I am not here to enjoy the scenic splendor around me. The gentle breeze washes over my sweat-soaked face to calm my turmoil.

I pull out the map and recalibrate the locations even though each inch is etched in my memory. With a deep sigh, I set about my job. I have a plan, and it’s a good one. The tall grass beckons me, and I slowly make my way through it, my burden weighing on my every move. The tension begins to build, slowly at first, and then I am shaking. I pause, the sweat now rivulets worming downstream all over my body.

The grass clears, and the divide yawns precisely as the map shows. I look around as I cross it, guilt and fear writ large on my face. It is hard work despite the sharp tools I have. Determination now overcomes fear as I make progress.

It’s taken me six hours, and the sun starts its descent. The pit is covered. I wipe the grime from my face with grim satisfaction and permit myself the first smile in years.

It’s the next day, and the news channels cover only one event—the creation of the international border. Everywhere, the two countries’ maps are on full display. The partition matches my map perfectly.

I glance at his photograph on the mantlepiece. He will hurt me no more.