Sordid. The last word in a chain that comes up while scouring for ideas. The days are sometimes dark and long. They seem lost and you finally get to the end in a hurry.
Like today when my mind is shut-shop and dry without a breeze of a thought. It's like the desert in the afternoon of its heat. I can see myself - the Bedouin - sitting alone on a low dune deep in the womb of the Sahara. Watching. Brooding. Waiting.
His eyes are dry. They are blood-shot and they scan the horizon for a flicker somewhere. His long fingers dig into the hot sand. The edges of his nails are broken and the skin of his finger tips are crusted and cut. He grabs a handful and watches the grains pour back into the ground. Seamless, they become the desert again.
The wind has now picked up and it blows up thin sand fumes from the edges of the dunes.
A faint sound somewhere catches him off-guard. He pauses for a moment and grips his staff lying on the side. He scans the ends of the blistering horizon again. He slowly crouches and then takes off the turban cloth covering his face and ears to catch the sound again.
Far beyond towards the east there's a slight movement. A thin fluid shape shimmers in the distance. The sound - a faint ringing of bells - floats in the air.
The mirage takes a form - a camel with a rider.
He falls to the ground and watches their passage. He crouches up and starts to walk fast. A few hundred meters ahead of him is a high dune. He runs up and crawls to the edge of the sand mount. He slowly inches towards the sand cliff and peers down into the valley of sand.
Far below the pair have stopped. The rider, a woman, has dismounted. She gently pulls down a bag from side of the animal. She opens it and pulls out a mat.
Clanging something falls to the ground. It glints for a moment and rolls around and rests on the ground. She spreads the mat and stretches out to the fallen object. She stops suddenly and turns around and then looks up to where he is perched. She stares at him for several seconds.
He doesn't move.
He breathes slowly.
The turban cloth closing up to his face as he inhales. The camel moves and twitches its head. Her gaze shifts to the animal. She gets back up and takes off her black hood and scarf. Her face is coarse. A black scar or a tattoo runs down her chin.
She rubs her left eye and then gouges it out. She opens her palm and the eye stares back at her. A stream of blood pours from the dark hole on her face.
He cries out.
Screaming he covers his mouth. He falls over from his perch. Twisting in a sea of sand.
Somebody shakes him violently. He screams again.
Somebody shakes him again. He hears his name being called out. He opens his eyes and stares into the face of the woman with the camel.
