He kept plowing into the sand, deep below.
Each new thrust bore pain; with each new blow came hope.
He kept whistling as he dug. Whistling the tune of a song long forgotten.
The deeper he dug, the holes kept widening.
More digs leaping from point to point.
The leaps getting farther as he plowed with renewed vigor.
Finally there was just the earth below him that kept him standing.
It was only the plunge that remained.
He saw all sorts of colors at the bottom.
Promises of visions coming true.
Broken connections mended.
A fairytale dream.
Nature.
There was no need to run, yet he ran.
Backing for momentum, gaining speed.
It was a state of prismatic euphoria as he went over the edge.
It blacked out instantly.
He never reached the recesses of his soul.
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