We were lost in the desert. The ship was drinking sand. The parachutes were slowly twisting, out of shape, out of hope. I had a broken foot, of course. I realised my problems had only just begun. The sun was carefully touching the ground. One of the bottles had survived the jump. I drank it with a spoon, then tried to stand up. In the distance I could see the smoke turning around in circles, not knowing where to go. Maria looked at me with no expression on her pale face. She smoked a French cigarette without pleasure. -Who is the one responsible for the deck chairs?-I don't know.-No?-No. And don't ask me again.
She hummed sadly a song I remembered from somewhere. Someone had found enough dry wood to start a small fire. I warmed my blue fingers, tv images of lizards in my head. I sighed. I was tired. It had been a long day.
Published on December 30, 2013 07:05