Seven feet deep

I've been digging for months. I've been digging through grass, through soil, I even broke my spade. It splintered on a grey stone. I got another spade, I kept on digging. 

One foot deep.

Easy job. I'm one foot deep. I found nothing on this level. Not that I should expect to find anything. I haven't made the effort. I know it's somewhere down there.

Two feet deep.

I'm warmed up. Drops of sweat chase down my cheeks, neck, and dry up at my collar. Where is it? I have to keep digging. It has to be here.

Three feet deep.

I tuck up my sleeves. Damn, it's tiring! And it's still not there! Is it sweat running down from my eyes?

Four feet deep.

If I bend, I can't see out of the hole. My back hurts. Where the hell is it? I've been told it would be here. She told me it would be here. It was put here, she said!

Five feet deep.

No! Nothing, for fuck's sake! Nothing! She promised! She told me I'd find it here! Just dig a bit down, and you'll find, she whispered! Poisonous tongues always lure you into a trap. Yet I knew the thing I was looking for is there, right below me. I have to dig.

Six feet deep.

Dead men rest here. Even if I straighten, I see nothing. Just a hole I dug. Still nothing. What a lie it was! A sweet lie...

Seven feet deep.

I look around. It's almost pitch black. As I extend my arms vertically, they can't reach the edge of the hole. I'm trapped. Have I found it? I fumble at the bottom but my hands grasp only the cold, soft soil. What I'm looking for is warm. Throbbing, probably. But now I see there is no turning back. Grabbing my spade I have to keep on digging. Wind grazes my nape; it ruffles my shaggy hair. Sweat dryens on my skin quickly. I shiver. My dirty fingers clutch around the hilt. Determined motion raises and strucks the spade into the ground.

Eight feet deep.