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And then there’s the beaone to such lengths to create that beam-- and the two others-- to point to the journal? The journal was meant to be found, that’s obvious, but by who the journal closed when I notice a blank white page s in the middle of the journal What an odd oe are fi l ed froe, back and front, has been left blank Not a dot of ink Its whiteness is ale isn’t even coe after this blank sheet, picking up exactly where it left off I tap the spine of the book, pondering, confused
Like the refl ected beaht that pointed e see my attention here But as much as I examine it, I can’t make heads or tails of it
I fl op down, tired The roorasp around my neck, feel the scrim of sweat and dirt under my jawline I don’t even need to liftin heat
It will be my escort who’l make the discovery When he co out through the cracks along the door frah the s, the shutters having already been retracted
He’l seein this chair, sul en and tired,hard, eyes wide because I will , though resigned, still be very afraid He will see the e off me in waves And then he’l understand
He will not cal for the others He ant lass s-- so frail in the face of his desire, like thin ice before a blowtorch-- and even before the shattered shards have reached the ground, he wil be upon s and nails in just a few-- And then, just like that, I realize so whiteness of the outside feels like acid dropped on ht leak in a little at a ti
It is hours before dusk, when the sun has just begun its descent
The sun isn’t going quietly: bleeding red into the sky, it The sun isn’t going quietly: bleeding red into the sky, it infuses the plains with an orange- and- purple hue Without the Doe, the mud huts look exposed and inconsequential in the plains, like rat droppings Soon the light sensors will detect the arrival of night and the glass wal s will arc out of the ground, form a perfect dome, and protect the hepers frolimmer in front of the ht The pond It’s been staring ed and odor oozed off my body How could I have been so blind? all the water I could possibly want, for drinking and washing, within easy access The only danger would be the hepers, of course, who ht not take kindly to my intrusion They’l be confused, of course, on the arrival of a stranger somehow able to withstand sun rays But I kno to handle thes, snap my neck side to side, click my bones; I’m a master at impersonation They’l likely scatter to the four winds
Suddenly upbeat, I plow on toward the heper vil age
Gradual y, thein size and detail Then I see the hepers, a group of stick fi guresThe sight of them both excites and unnerves me
There are fi ve of them They haven’t noticed me yet, nor would they have: nobody has ever approached the the day
When I am about a hundred yards away, they see ht up, his ar attowardinside mud huts I see s shuttered closed, doors slammed shut Within a few scantupturned pots and pails around the pond in their wake Just what I was hoping for
Nothing stirs Not an opened shutter or a cracked door I break into a trot,with every jarring step My gaze, fi xed on the pond, thirstily draater out with the bucket ofcloser, fifty yards out
A door to one of the mud huts opens
A fee on its face, but fear, too It grips a spear in its right hand Hanging off its hip is a simple fl at slab of dark hide leather, alers lies strapped in taut against the leather, their blades strangely curved at the hilt
I raise my hands ide- open palms I’m not sure how much it comprehends, so I use simple words "No hurt! No hurt!" I shout, but what ekes out instead are hoarse, indecipherable sounds I try to push the words out again, but I can’t gather enough saliva insun, directly behind ht easel paint dripping onto drab leather shoes