At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we'd struck it rich and that we'd be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we'd spend the money. Our first choice was____to buy a place somewhere in the city. It was all we ever wanted. We had lived in the country most of our lives, we were sick and tired of the silence and small towns. My little boy, Ryan attended a school with about twelve other children. There were no other kids his age there, he didn't fit in well. We were all itching to get out of there.

I still couldn't believe how my husband had found it. Of all the times he had gone drilling, he had finally hit something. So now, there was a hole, with black liquid slowly trickling inside. I didn't exactly know what oil smelled like, but he was sure it was just that. Oil. Dark and thick. He and the other workers were going to start pumping it away tomorrow. For now, life would be business as usual. I wanted to brag to my friends at the market that my husband had done it, but I knew they wouldn't believe me. Ryan. on the contrary, was fascinated by this black goo with a life of its own. Sloshing around in its hole without a breeze passing by. He stood by the edge of the hole when we took a trip down to the oil site, to visit his dad. My husband.

"Cici, you know what I see when I look into that hole?" he had asked me.

"What do you see George?" I would respond. His face would light up, and he'd wrap one arm around me, pulling me close to him.

"I see our future. This is it! This is our big break! Our one-way ticket out of here!" he would grin. I'd kiss his cheek, and stroke his hair gently. I'd watch Ryan run around the site, holding the toy bulldozer his father had gotten for him.

"When I grow up, I want to be like you daddy!" he smiled, dimples and all. I'd then pull him close to me, and he'd watch the real bulldozers move, the oil drills whirring. Soon we'd be out of here. I was already packing up my things.

We didn't live far from the drill site. It was a short walk away, or a run if you felt like exercising. It was on the way to the schoolhouse that Ryan attended. He made me promise him that he'd be able to watch them take the oil out. I promised that he would be there for it.

Finally, the day came. I remember every last detail. I wish I didn't. Ryan came home from school and immediately headed over to the site. George was already there, so I let him go. A few minutes later, I headed over, after changing my clothes. George was already there, pulling the hose down the hole.

"Has Ryan stopped by?" I had asked him. He shook his head. Maybe he went back to school? Had he forgotten something there? I felt bad that he would be missing this great event. I had promised him that he would see it. Suddenly, there's a sort of hiss that escapes the machine and a loud clunk.

"Shut it off! There's a clog in the pipe!" a worker shouts. George races over and turns off the machine.

"What's going on?" I ask him. Workers are struggling to pull the pipe from the sticky mess. George stands back, pushing multiple buttons on the machine.

"We didn't exactly tape off the hole, or put fences around it. Maybe an animal fell in?" he suggests. I shudder at the thought of an animal struggling to free itself only to become further entangled in the black ooze. The inky darkness filling their lungs. I feel myself gagging. That's when I see it. A toy bulldozer, abandoned by the side of the hole, fallen on its side. I feel my heart sink into my stomach as the tube is pulled up from the mess.

"It's still in the hole!" someone shouts. I can barely hear them. My heartbeat pulses in my ears. I can feel the exact moment when my heart shatters into pieces. The crane lowers into the hole and grabs on. I can't watch. I have to. This is what I have done. I see them pull the inky black lump from out of the pit. About the size of a five-year-old boy. It sags in the hand of the claw, flopping lifelessly.

"What the hell..." one worker mutters. They don't see it, not really. George doesn't think much of it at first and is as confused as everyone else. Everyone but me. It soon hits him, in waves until his knees give out from under him. At first, he can't break his gaze away from it. Then, his fist slams against the ground, and I can feel the vibrations in my own legs, running up my spine. He curses the earth, curses himself, then lets the tears fall freely. No one moves. I am rooted to the ground, my eyes unmoving from the black lump hanging in the sky.

It was a few days later when we were confirmed of two things. That we had hit tar, not oil. And that it had indeed been Ryan that was pulled out of the pit. We lost more than we could ever gain back.