𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞
Sweat glistened on his exposed chest as he chopped the last of the wooden logs. He has been working overtime to keep up with the insurmountable demand. Not that he minds. The few extra paise puts food in his stomach and a smile on his wife's face. But now he's free to go. The work for the day has been done. He used his forearm to mop his brows and drew in a long breath when a commotion from across the street drew his attention. Another body came in. Fiftieth of the day. He cursed under his breath and brought his palms close to his eyes for inspection. They were bruised and swollen. A lone tear squeezed out of his eyes. Was it due to the pain? Surely a pandemic couldn't unnerve someone who deals with death for a living.
-