We do this every night; the stars and I. Stare at ourselves for long minutes, wink, and gossip about our days till mosquitoes, those bloody buggers, get greedy with my blood and think to themselves “Hey! Come on all, here’s a buffet”.

Some nights I walk round the house while we chat, adrenaline excess of the day coursing through me and fueling my feet. Other times, like last night, I lie on grandma’s old prayer mat, my hands to the East and West; nailed into position by weariness.

A star twinkled brightly; it was apparently happy, or thinking to drag me out of the fatigue. I smiled; a slight puckering of my lips that engaged all the muscles around my lower jaw. It didn’t seem happy with that effort, so I explained:

I’m drained Honey. That other star, the large one called the sun, it’s taken all of me. It stood high and angry today; shone with all its might like it was at some competition.

The star looked downcast, I think it was sympathizing with me. So I continued, encouraged by the listening audience:

My scalp sweated, large drops of water drained from my brain consequent of its roasting by the sun. It poured all over me, till my clothes clung to model my slim body. I thirsted, and drank water to wet my brain; instead the water popped out as sweat beads all over me. So I stopped drinking water, hoping to get some reprieve. Then my skin began to sizzle; I was hot even to my own touch. All of a sudden, one minute I was trying to calculate the length of time it would be till I would see you again, and the next minute you are here; above me. I know I have not died; you are still out of my reach. But perhaps I fainted; or I am hallucinating because you are my best part of the day, and there’s no water left to carry oxygen to my brain….

The winds blew cool as I closed my eyes. For some reason the mosquitoes weren’t feeding on me that night. I knew they were there: I could hear their testosterone-filled symphony. But I could feel no pain; no pinch of their suckers draining my blood.

Perhaps I really was hallucinating; and I was under the avenging sun, donating my lifeblood to the clothes molding curves and hollows I hadn’t known existed


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