An Orange in the Desert

An Orange in the Desert

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It’s warm, too warm for Autumn.

Salty sweat flows down like a stream between my brows.

I’ve heard stories of icy waters in lush green forest. Sun reflecting as diamonds sparkles on glistening leaves. I have yet to travel these mythic lands. I visit them in my dreams.

The howling winds.

I drag myself to the market, again. Months have past since I sold Maria. She was last. An old dried up goat which hadn’t produced milk for months. I couldn’t afford the feed. Her dried up scorched skin showed through her patchy hide.

The neighboring tribes had long vanished. The water wells buried under the dunes. I stayed. Even the rare passing caravans trudged further North. My robe was in tatters, threads of an old discolored patchwork keeping together what remained of a mother’s love.

A rainbow of burning amber scratched the starry void. It was a sign! ‘I will find it’  I screamed! It was here! I held it in my hand”. I hurried and stumbled away on my quest.You are a fool!” they shouted, “Delusions!” A mirage they called it, ‘The sun has fallen on your head”. They sneered. “Jackals!”

They found my body weeks later, burned, dehydrated, half buried in the sand. ‘I saw the sign…” I whispered. They left, one after the other.

Alone

I no longer feel the hunger, nor the thirst. I close my eyes.

It’s warm, too warm for Autumn.

 

Guy Giard

September 12th, 2017

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