He gasped for breath. Crossed his arms on the bank of the river. He didnt have a lot of time. He would go down again soon. The man on his left looked much worse. Old blue in the face. He passed out. An uncontrollable indifference came over him, he looked ahead. Green fields lay before him. The window of an invisible prison. His hands were bound to a sturdy log, as were the others. There were about twenty other people. He started taking the bulbous root from the bag tied to his waist and threw them on his ever increasing heap. Each person had his own heap in front of him.

"Get ready", a thick booming voice sounded.

"And down", the voice screamed.

All twenty men were simulatneously lowered back down under water for the umteenth time that day. The cold water rushed past his head. The feeling could have been pleasant under different circumstances he though vaguely as he shielded instictively with his hands.

They were lowered about 3 meters to where the plants grew in the muddy side of the river. He started picking. Careful not to waste movement unnessasarily but also knowing that he had a quota to meet. The roots went into the back one at a time. He was starting to get used to it. Still many left. The previous day he had had a more difficult time.

His lungs started to burn and he instinctively wanted to swim up, although he knew he coulnt. He plucked three more from the muddy wall before he felt himself being tugged violently to the surface. He blew out the remainder of his hair in small bubbles as he had seen divers do before.

They surfaced again.

The old man next to him was dead. He was bent double over the log and his face was still in the water, his upper body floating at the shoulders. It reminded him of something he had seen before. But that had been a long time ago, a different life it seemed. His indifference turned consciously in his mind to pity. The man must have suffered a lot. Too old for this type of torture. And hell yes, this was torture, cruel labour.