Hello, Anna

I’ve always loved to dig holes. To preface: flat land is admired and those who have it are highly praised therefore I desired it and was willing to obtain it through any means necessary. I, of course, started off small as I did not wish to task myself with something I was not able to accomplish. I invested in a small, metallic gardening shovel, and I began to excavate a seemingly surmountable hill that inhabited the luscious, green land I lived upon. I tore away at its surface until the hill’s top was flat and only the topsoil was visible. Day after day I would slowly carve into this beautiful mass of land with my small shovel, transfer this land into a small wheelbarrow, take this wheelbarrow to the only flat stretch of land I owned, and dump it. Eventually the hill was not a hill but a flat area of land. No protuberance was visible in the region where the hill used to lay. However, I began to notice more hills that once were breathtaking and benign, now became pestiferous nuisances.

I approached the next hill, more aggressive in manner, and I began digging until once again I reached the topsoil and this hill's top was also flat. I dug from late morning to early evening longer than I ever had dug before, but this idea of playing God, sculpting the land into what I desired it to be was rapturous. It was the purest form of pleasure I had ever experienced as if I was reaching Nirvana every single time I desolated another hill. I targeted a new hill. I was a skilled assassin and it was my target. With every pull of my trigger I devastated this massive, marvelous target until it lay dead like the others. With each hill I overcame, the sun seemed to beam on my skin more violently. In a dazed state from the heat, I woolgathered that the sun was punishing me for the destruction of these hills; the sun was the protector of the land, and if any intent with malice was inflicted upon Earth's beautiful skin the assailant was penalized for their sins.

Sweat poured from my body, it dripped from my hair, and I loved this labor intensive process. After devouring a handful of hills I realized that my beautiful gardening shovel was not large enough to demolish as many hills as I wished. I outgrew the gardening shovel. I invested in a large digging shovel that came to a round point. The handle was crafted from beautiful wood, its scoop composed of a lovely aluminum that reflected the harsh sun beautifully. With my new shovel I began to desecrate another sacred hill tearing it apart with my powerful gesticulations. I worked from dusk to dawn, longer than I ever had before, and as I finished creating another ruin I felt a tang of pain in my hands. They were bleeding. Large bulbous pockets had formed below each finger. Each caused its own searing pain like a wasp injecting venom into my hand each time a dome was disturbed. I endured the pain each day growing less aware of the stinging emanating from the blisters. After time, my hands became deserts. Dry and cracked.

Time passed along and I removed hills, more and more each day. It was a constant process: dig, transfer, dump, dig, transfer, dump, dig, transfer, dump. There are no hills anymore. The land is barren. My land, my once beautiful once green and lively land, no is an arid desert of nothingness. I had an epiphany after leveling my land: flat land is praised, yes, but what is less than flat? I found out. I ripped black holes into my universe. I began digging all day, it became an obsession, and finally I managed to dig through a whole day. Twenty four hours of solid digging, transferring, and dumping. I never stopped for respite. My arms burned, my skin was a blazing fire, and orgasmic thoughts of digging coursed through my veins. Digging was heroin, and I was its submissive junky constantly craving more. I worked through the hellish conditions, the sun growing hotter the more I dug, and I grew faint. I struggled with myself in regards to digging one more hole or stopping until the next day. I decided to dig one last hole for the day. I had one last wheelbarrow of dry earth to dump. I ascended the large mountain, composed of dead hills and dry earth, and as I finally reached the top I felt eroded. I began to panic as I looked upon my sullen land. The sun beamed down, hotter than ever before, and I came to the realization that I had created the flattest land anyone could have ever wanted. However, I stood on top of the biggest hill I had ever encountered. I became dazed with anxiety. The clear image of my poor land slowly grew darker.
I collapsed. Now here I lie, beyond exhaustion, with a burning in my chest. Removing hills creates mountains.
Hello, Anna.

Time passed along and I removed hills, more and more each day. It was a constant process: dig, transfer, dump, dig, transfer, dump, dig, transfer, dump. There are no hills anymore. The land is barren. My land, my once beautiful once green and lively land, no is an arid desert of nothingness. I had an epiphany after leveling my land: flat land is praised, yes, but what is less than flat? I found out. I ripped black holes into my universe. I began digging all day, it became an obsession, and finally I managed to dig through a whole day. Twenty four hours of solid digging, transferring, and dumping. I never stopped for respite. My arms burned, my skin was a blazing fire, and orgasmic thoughts of digging coursed through my veins. Digging was heroin, and I was its submissive junky constantly craving more. I worked through the hellish conditions, the sun growing hotter the more I dug, and I grew faint. I struggled with myself in regards to digging one more hole or stopping until the next day. I decided to dig one last hole for the day. I had one last wheelbarrow of dry earth to dump. I ascended the large mountain, composed of dead hills and dry earth, and as I finally reached the top I felt eroded. I began to panic as I looked upon my sullen land. The sun beamed down, hotter than ever before, and I came to the realization that I had created the flattest land anyone could have ever wanted. However, I stood on top of the biggest hill I had ever encountered. I became dazed with anxiety. The clear image of my poor land slowly grew darker.

I collapsed. Now here I lie, beyond exhaustion, with a burning in my chest. Removing hills creates mountains.

Hello, Anna.