Quietly

• Jumaana Abdu, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

Quietly, I waited. Around me, the arid land cried for water, the screeches of overhead eagles voicing its agonizing thirst. Its desperate thirst. And quietly, I listened. I heard the sun-burnt earth moaning with every heat wave that rose from its cracked surface. Its scarred surface. Then, quietly, I inhaled. Savouring the taste of the scorched air as it slowly baked the inside of my throat and lungs. My smoldering throat and lungs.

Quietly, I waited. I let the heat of the sun sear my skin, bringing my blood to a simmer; cooking me as though I were a lifeless, thoughtless meal.

And maybe I was.

Or maybe it was the bleakness, the smothering sense of isolation, that was slowly causing me to wish that I was. A meal, that is. For, no inanimate dish must persevere the pain of a million suns as they cut through your flesh. Or battle seducing hallucinations as they urge you to run towards the non-existent oasis. Or die of exhaustion after they hopelessly chase the beautiful mirage that seemed so real. So real, even, that you could taste the cool, sweet moisture in the air. And feel the rejuvenating breeze as it tickled your cheeks.

But none of it is real. Just an apparition; a death trap.

Even death, at that point, seemed tempting. Anything to escape the intolerable cruelty of the harsh desert; the bare stretch of cinnamon land. It was teasing me, taunting me, saying, ‘Try as you will, but hope not to escape me. For it will prove to be a waste of hope. Because here, in this barren wasteland, you shall take your last breath. But please, by all means, try as you will.’

And I, being weak of mind and soul, surrendered to my sadistic oppressor; my eternal confinement. Sinking to my knees I pleaded for saviour; the last request of a dying man. A pitiful, crazy man.

Gathering what petty scraps of energy I had left, I looked skyward, letting the white rays of sun blind me and screamed, “Be done with me! Relieve me of this endless suffering, this barbaric torture. Take my life, for I wish no longer to have it, if excruciating pain is the price I must pay for living!”

That, for me, was the conformation of insanity. But sanity seemed a worse option.
As I reveled in the idea that I had lost all reason, I noticed how the air was reminiscent of a wood fire. I’d once imagined what it would be like inside one of those majestic flames.

And now I knew. Now, I was all too familiar with the feel of searing heat on every inch of my body. But soon it would be over. Soon, my withered heart would give in and I would be rid of this torment. All there was left to do was wait.

So quietly, I waited.