Opium Dreams

Midnight Rendez-vous In our land, fishing is not just for surviving, it is a way of life. I've been on fishing boats earlier than I've been standing on my feet, the same goes for the other children of the village. We live in the sea much more than we live on land, and for that we are grateful. The man with the tank-top first came to our village two weeks ago. I remember seeing him for the first time in the middle of the night as he limbed to the outcast hut of the village. One of the huts that we keep to outsiders who pass by so that they do not disturb our people. That was a week ago, and ever since, we didn't see him come out. We were not even sure that he was inside, but the elders warned us of disturbing him. We played outside by the river each day. Older kids would tease us to go near his hut, they would threaten that otherwise, they will not let us play. We were scared of the elders so we did not listen to them at first, we kept to ourselves and played with sma

He had an orange, irregular shaped stain on his white tank top, and the thought of it brought heaviness to his lungs. He hated it, despised it. He appreciated symmetry in things, including color, it brought grace he thought, how shapes were perfectly delineated, their edges even, their sides perfectly distinguished and their halves transposable. It bestowed calm upon him. The stain was located below his torso to his right side, just above where his kidney is. It was more yellowish than orange, almost transparent on his garment, giving a foggy view of one of his scars. He was proud, very proud, of his people. He admired how they looked; tall, with a straight, arrow-like back and a face that does not smile. They had big, veiny hands and large stallion legs. their skin tone ranged from dark chocolate to fresh honey, and they had coarse facial traits with large jaws and big noses. their foreheads were lined with ant bites. He was young and vigorous once, with energy flowing through