"You're going to die if you don't stop."
I don't care I have to keep going.
"You've done so much to help everyone already. See? The crisis is now very well in hand."
But it isn't enough yet.
"Please, you're hurting yourself, your feet in in blisters, you're growing so thin, forgive us.. but if we have to, we'll make you rest."
This prompt strongly reminds me of this story. A person driving themselves to pain and possibly to a death that no one desires them to suffer.
https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04272-k254-unreachable-goal -- Anon Guest
[AN: I suspect two Nonnies gave me this one. Thanks to the both of you]
"Take your rest. It's your turn," they said. I'm not done. There's more to do. There's always more to do. So... much... more... to do.
"Not yet," I repeat. "Not yet. I have more to do." There was always more.
Then someone dribbled a pinch of fine sand through thumb and forefinger, and muttered a simple, ancient word. After that, exhaustion, lassitude, and more than a little magic dragged me down.
Someone must have caught me. I only knew because nothing hurt when I woke. Well. Nothing was injured when I woke. My feet were pulsing with the echoes of past footsteps. They threatened worse when I tried to shift my weight using them.
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