That day at the construction site, the sun was like a giant fireball, baking everyone until they were practically smoking. I was chanting with my coworkers as we moved steel bars when suddenly, "crack!" I knew something was wrong. Before I could react, a steel pipe came crashing down, hitting me squarely on the instep.
"Ouch, damn it!" I cried out, collapsing to the ground in pain, tears streaming down my face. The pain felt like a fire burning my foot. I quickly took off my shoe, and there it was—a huge swelling on the instep, like a bright red, shiny steamed bun.
My coworkers immediately surrounded me. "Qiang, how are you?" "What are we going to do?" They all asked, their faces full of concern. I was in so much pain I could barely speak, only managing to squeeze out a few words through gritted teeth: "It hurts, it hurts so much..."
Just then, the foreman strolled over. He glanced at my foot, frowned slightly, and said impatiently, "Alright, alright, don't make a fuss. Here, take a bottle of safflower oil, rub it on yourself." He tossed me the bottle.
I stared at the bottle of safflower oil, seething with anger, but dared not show it. The foreman continued, "You'll have to stop working for three days, and there will be no pay for those three days." My heart sank. This was terrible. No work, no pay; no pay, how would I eat? My family was waiting for me to send money home.
I limped back to the work shed, sat on my bed, and stared at my swollen foot, filled with worry. The pain was excruciating; every movement felt like countless needles stabbing me. I touched it gently, "Ouch..." The pain made me gasp.
As night fell, the work shed gradually quieted down, but the pain in my foot worsened, like someone was tapping it with a small hammer. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep, groaning in pain. The more I thought about it, the more frightened I became. What if it didn't get better? What would happen to my foot? Would the boss fire me? What would happen to my family? Thinking about it, tears welled up in my eyes again.
The next day, a coworker who was always finding fault sauntered over, a sly grin on his face, and said sarcastically, "Hey, Qiang, your injury has really added a lot of work for us. Look how tired we are if you don't work!"
I was furious. I gritted my teeth, enduring the pain in my foot, and glared at him, saying, "I didn't want to get injured either! Don't talk nonsense! Who wants to get injured? Don't you have any conscience?!"
But he wouldn't let it go, stubbornly insisting, "Hmph, who knows if he's deliberately slacking off! Maybe he just wants to take a few days off."
I was so angry I wanted to jump up and punch him, but the pain in my foot was excruciating. I sat back down as soon as I stood up, sweating profusely from the pain.
Just then, Old Li heard the commotion and rushed over. He glared at the coworker and yelled, "Have you no conscience? Qiang's injured, and instead of comforting him, you're making sarcastic remarks! If you keep being so sarcastic, don't blame me for being ruthless!"
The coworker's face flushed red and then paled, and he slunk away. Old Li then turned to me and comforted me, "Qiang, don't take it to heart. Focus on recovering. It's not easy being away from home; don't get angry over someone like that." I looked at Old Li gratefully, thinking, "Thank goodness for him, otherwise I really wouldn't know what to do."
But my foot still hurt terribly. Three days had passed, and the swelling hadn't gone down much. Looking at my foot, I couldn't help but sigh, filled with worry. I didn't know what to do in the future. If my foot didn't heal, and the boss really didn't want me to work anymore, where would I go to earn money? At night, the pain in my feet, coupled with my worries, made me groan in pain. I don't know when I finally drifted off to sleep, but in my dreams I was working hard on a construction site, but I just couldn't get any strength in my feet...