Miracles

The sun burned down on his tanned body until he couldn't stand, but he continued to walk down the rows of newly plowed earth, dropping seeds every few feet. His thoughts drifted to the sunburns that would line his back for sure the next morning, and his eyes watered as dust flew into them. He stood for a second to stretch the protesting muscles in his back, before stooping over again. If he squinted, he could catch a glimpse of his sister milking the cows in the distance. He knew would have seen the defeat and misery on her face if he had moved closer, but instead he moved in the opposite direction, continuing his grueling task. Seven years ago, he had been ecstatic to begin helping on his family's farm. Time had abated his enthusiasm. He was Sisyphus, performing the same task every day without release. For a fleeting second, he yearned to worry about college and jobs like the rest of his classmates, but his only job was to be a farmer. He wished that he could leave this hell and never look back, but he had to support his family. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind angrily. There was no use in wishing for a miracle. Miracles were not real.