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Despite having passed the last of the dunes some moons ago, there was sand in the air, and it tasted particularly bitter. We’d been here before.
As we travelled across the gravel plain, Al-Hader held out his arms, gesturing us to stop as the oasis first came into site. Date palms grew in a large clusters around the pool. A number of our group dismounted and broke past Al-Hader, sprinting to the water, drinking their fill, bathing their dry, wind-battered skin.
Al-Hader smiled at me, “look what I have brought us to! Come, let us drink.”
As he took his camel down to the water I lingered behind. This place held memories I cared not to recall.
As night drew in we set up our tents. Al-Hader was in high spirits. Plans had already been devised to harvest the date crop, the older trees were marked for cutting down, the younger ones left for further harvesting should we ever return. They ate better that night than in any previous in recent memory. I touched little food. I only let some pass my lips so as to not arouse suspicion, but the fleshiness of the fruit turned my stomach. I could taste my sin.
Sleep did not come to me that night, as it had not all those many years ago on the very same spot. As we have wandered over the years my mind has often wandered too. Would life be any different if my actions were not so?
Salem was a danger. He took risks, too many chances. He led us to water time and again, but the time in between was tough, and always too long. We lost loved ones, we lost livestock, under Salem, many of us lost hope. To see my own son face down in the sand, having breathed his last was the final straw. At this very oasis some twenty years ago I took action. In the cold night I crept from my tent and woke him. I warned of bandits approaching from the East. Ever ready to do his all for us he burst from the tent to see his attackers. I led him to a clear spot and told him to look across. As he peered into the distance I buried a knife deep into gut.
Where his blood spilt these palms have grown. His life gave new life, and how well it has fared, so much better than we ever did under he. As I spread his corpse, cut into small pieces across the plain, this mighty crop has spread. I cannot feast on this harvest.
Yet this place stirs something more. Recent years have been tough, too much for our people. Al-Hader is confident, overly so, and it has nearly cost us. Our camels are thin. Our goat flock dwindling. The way they ran to the water, so desperate to feel it on their skin when we arrived here. Surely if nothing is done it is only a matter of time until he leads us to our doom?
My knife is still sharp. It is time to wake Al-Hader.
As we travelled across the gravel plain, Al-Hader held out his arms, gesturing us to stop as the oasis first came into site. Date palms grew in a large clusters around the pool. A number of our group dismounted and broke past Al-Hader, sprinting to the water, drinking their fill, bathing their dry, wind-battered skin.
Al-Hader smiled at me, “look what I have brought us to! Come, let us drink.”
As he took his camel down to the water I lingered behind. This place held memories I cared not to recall.
As night drew in we set up our tents. Al-Hader was in high spirits. Plans had already been devised to harvest the date crop, the older trees were marked for cutting down, the younger ones left for further harvesting should we ever return. They ate better that night than in any previous in recent memory. I touched little food. I only let some pass my lips so as to not arouse suspicion, but the fleshiness of the fruit turned my stomach. I could taste my sin.
Sleep did not come to me that night, as it had not all those many years ago on the very same spot. As we have wandered over the years my mind has often wandered too. Would life be any different if my actions were not so?
Salem was a danger. He took risks, too many chances. He led us to water time and again, but the time in between was tough, and always too long. We lost loved ones, we lost livestock, under Salem, many of us lost hope. To see my own son face down in the sand, having breathed his last was the final straw. At this very oasis some twenty years ago I took action. In the cold night I crept from my tent and woke him. I warned of bandits approaching from the East. Ever ready to do his all for us he burst from the tent to see his attackers. I led him to a clear spot and told him to look across. As he peered into the distance I buried a knife deep into gut.
Where his blood spilt these palms have grown. His life gave new life, and how well it has fared, so much better than we ever did under he. As I spread his corpse, cut into small pieces across the plain, this mighty crop has spread. I cannot feast on this harvest.
Yet this place stirs something more. Recent years have been tough, too much for our people. Al-Hader is confident, overly so, and it has nearly cost us. Our camels are thin. Our goat flock dwindling. The way they ran to the water, so desperate to feel it on their skin when we arrived here. Surely if nothing is done it is only a matter of time until he leads us to our doom?
My knife is still sharp. It is time to wake Al-Hader.
Enjoyed that, although I think he'd need something a bit more in order to kill again.
Good.
Good.
T'was rather good, the short at least. Some of the wording didnt sit too comfortably with me like "knife into gut" - it was without adjectives, seemed too boney - needed a bit more description.
The end was good though, a lil predictable but brought a wry smile anyhow.
The end was good though, a lil predictable but brought a wry smile anyhow.
A Persian snapshot of cloak-and-dagger. Snake-charmingly good. I enjoyed.
Very nice, short and flowing. A use of the word I expected to read earlier. I like the idea of betrayal and guilt. Judge and executioner.
Despite having passed the last of the dunes some moons ago, there was sand in the air, and it tasted particularly bitter. We’d been here before.
As we travelled across the gravel plain, Al-Hader held out his arms, gesturing us to stop as the oasis first came into site. Date palms grew in a large clusters around the pool. A number of our group dismounted and broke past Al-Hader, sprinting to the water, drinking their fill, bathing their dry, wind-battered skin.
Al-Hader smiled at me, “look what I have brought us to! Come, let us drink.”
As he took his camel down to the water I lingered behind. This place held memories I cared not to recall.
As night drew in we set up our tents. Al-Hader was in high spirits. Plans had already been devised to harvest the date crop, the older trees were marked for cutting down, the younger ones left for further harvesting should we ever return. They ate better that night than in any previous in recent memory. I touched little food. I only let some pass my lips so as to not arouse suspicion, but the fleshiness of the fruit turned my stomach. I could taste my sin.
Sleep did not come to me that night, as it had not all those many years ago on the very same spot. As we have wandered over the years my mind has often wandered too. Would life be any different if my actions were not so?
Salem was a danger. He took risks, too many chances. He led us to water time and again, but the time in between was tough, and always too long. We lost loved ones, we lost livestock, under Salem, many of us lost hope. To see my own son face down in the sand, having breathed his last was the final straw. At this very oasis some twenty years ago I took action. In the cold night I crept from my tent and woke him. I warned of bandits approaching from the East. Ever ready to do his all for us he burst from the tent to see his attackers. I led him to a clear spot and told him to look across. As he peered into the distance I buried a knife deep into gut.
Where his blood spilt these palms have grown. His life gave new life, and how well it has fared, so much better than we ever did under he. As I spread his corpse, cut into small pieces across the plain, this mighty crop has spread. I cannot feast on this harvest.
Yet this place stirs something more. Recent years have been tough, too much for our people. Al-Hader is confident, overly so, and it has nearly cost us. Our camels are thin. Our goat flock dwindling. The way they ran to the water, so desperate to feel it on their skin when we arrived here. Surely if nothing is done it is only a matter of time until he leads us to our doom?
My knife is still sharp. It is time to wake Al-Hader.
As we travelled across the gravel plain, Al-Hader held out his arms, gesturing us to stop as the oasis first came into site. Date palms grew in a large clusters around the pool. A number of our group dismounted and broke past Al-Hader, sprinting to the water, drinking their fill, bathing their dry, wind-battered skin.
Al-Hader smiled at me, “look what I have brought us to! Come, let us drink.”
As he took his camel down to the water I lingered behind. This place held memories I cared not to recall.
As night drew in we set up our tents. Al-Hader was in high spirits. Plans had already been devised to harvest the date crop, the older trees were marked for cutting down, the younger ones left for further harvesting should we ever return. They ate better that night than in any previous in recent memory. I touched little food. I only let some pass my lips so as to not arouse suspicion, but the fleshiness of the fruit turned my stomach. I could taste my sin.
Sleep did not come to me that night, as it had not all those many years ago on the very same spot. As we have wandered over the years my mind has often wandered too. Would life be any different if my actions were not so?
Salem was a danger. He took risks, too many chances. He led us to water time and again, but the time in between was tough, and always too long. We lost loved ones, we lost livestock, under Salem, many of us lost hope. To see my own son face down in the sand, having breathed his last was the final straw. At this very oasis some twenty years ago I took action. In the cold night I crept from my tent and woke him. I warned of bandits approaching from the East. Ever ready to do his all for us he burst from the tent to see his attackers. I led him to a clear spot and told him to look across. As he peered into the distance I buried a knife deep into gut.
Where his blood spilt these palms have grown. His life gave new life, and how well it has fared, so much better than we ever did under he. As I spread his corpse, cut into small pieces across the plain, this mighty crop has spread. I cannot feast on this harvest.
Yet this place stirs something more. Recent years have been tough, too much for our people. Al-Hader is confident, overly so, and it has nearly cost us. Our camels are thin. Our goat flock dwindling. The way they ran to the water, so desperate to feel it on their skin when we arrived here. Surely if nothing is done it is only a matter of time until he leads us to our doom?
My knife is still sharp. It is time to wake Al-Hader.