Red Suns (Ch. 1: UNFINISHED)

      The morning air was fresh, sweet, weighted with heat beaming from the sun onto the desert ground. Mud cracks stretched the length of the ephemeral stream that branched out for half a mile to the east, carving a pattern that would vanish with the next rain. A steady, calescent breath of air moved through the spacious area, grazing the depleted stream bed and kicking up miniature whirlwinds of sand.

         Anika held her palms against the ground, breathing deep; inhaling the scent and savoring the taste. Sweat tricked down the small of her back. She leaned back, digging her nails into the sand. “I love it here.” 

         The young man beside her with his back on the sand and hands tucked behind his head, looked up. “What?”

         Anika stared out at the grey mountains painted against the skyline. “Everyone has plans to leave,” She murmured. “Cross the mountains, grab a ticket at the nearest port, sail out and never look back.” Her eyes turned to him, playfully accusing. “Even you.”

         He shrugged. “Some of us think there’s more to life than sand and small towns.”

         Anika scooped a handful of golden desert earth and let it trickle through her fingers like dry water. The breeze carried it away.

         “Come with me.”

         The request was simple. It hung in the air, patiently, while Anika tried to count the number of times it had previously been voiced. She drew her knees to her chest and locked them in with her arms. “No.”

         “Please.”

         Anika smiled at him. “We’ve been through this a hundred times, Zach.”

         “And you always say the same thing.”

         She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe because I haven’t changed my mind.”

         Zach sighed, sitting up. “I tried.” He shook his head. “You’re a tough nut to crack.”

         Anika rested her chin on her arms. “Write to me.”

         Zach nodded.

         “And come home when you can.” She added, nudging him gently.

         “Give me a reason.”

         Anika’s cheeks warmed as he turned his eyes on her. Brown, inviting. As open as the arid expanse stretching out before them. She leaned in, slowly, gaining confidence as he mirrored her movement. His hand fell over hers. She breathed in, smelling wind and spices on his clothing. He grinned and closed the space between them.

         Anika released her breath as he kissed her. His lips were warm and salty, his hands rough as they cupped the base of her neck.

         He pulled back first. “I love you.”

         It had been three years since she’d heard those words fall from his lips for the very first time. They still gave her butterflies. She rested her forehead against his. “I love you too.”

         “Just not enough to come with me?”

         Anika laughed. “Enough to let you do whatever you want.” She straightened, catching his hand as it slid from her neck. Their fingers intertwined. “It won’t be that bad. I promise.”

         Zach looked unconvinced. “You say that now.” He clicked his tongue. “But, if you’re sure...”

         Anika kissed his cheek. “I’m sure.” She glanced over her shoulder, remembering the half hour walk it took to reach the dusty road she took home. “I’ve gotta go.” Sand fell from her skirt as she stood and dusted off. “See you tomorrow?”

         Zach gave her a mock salute. “As usual.”

         She smiled, needing nothing more.



The memory faded, giving way to pain, damp clothing and the stiffness that came from resting against a rocky surface for too long. The scent of rotting wood and wet moss hung like a sheet in the air, infiltrating every breath and giving it a nauseating taste. Rain pounded the fractured metal roof above, hammering out a rhythmic tune that Anika was sick of hearing.

         “Glad you’re awake. We should get moving.”

         Anika fought to hide a grimace. Caden wasn’t known for bunking in any one place more than a day. She nudged her pack with the tip of her worn boot. “My stuff is packed.”

         Caden’s gaze settled on her. It was a hard stare, unflinching. “Getting cold feet?”

         Anika returned the stare. She didn’t mention the dream. Or Zach. Or the fact that, if the right amount of concentration could be mustered up, she could close her eyes and paint that scene and a million others against the darkness and watch them play out like they’d been etched and burned across her memory. All of this made her vulnerable. And she knew well enough that vulnerability was frequently a person’s biggest and final mistake. “No.” She rose, flinching at the sharp, prickling sensation of blood returning to her feet. The pack was heavy as she slung it across her shoulders and fastened the strap across her chest. It pulled at the freshly sewn stitches in her shoulder.

         Caden checked his gear, seemingly satisfied with the sopping contents of his pack. He glanced up through one of the fractures in the roof. Water splattered against his face, washing away some of the mud. He frowned. “It’s not going to let up any time soon. If we do this, we do it now.”

         Anika followed him out. A fence made of twisted, thorny metal stretched east to west, disappearing on both sides after a mile or so but continuing on. Beyond the fence, the dark outline of a city stood, hazy and shifting in the sleet.

         Caden turned to her. Rain poured down his face. “I’ll see you inside.”

         Assuming we make it in. She nodded.

         Caden threw a glance both ways and started at a jog down the west side of the wall.          

        Anika turned to the east. Her mind took her, once more, down the trail of blood, sweat, lies and burned bridges that had delivered her to this point. There should have been a feeling remorse, a sense of aberration. Something to signify she still possessed the capacity to perceive a disparity between right and wrong.

         But there was nothing, and the city was still waiting, blurred and inky in the rain. This was, requisite or not, the decision she had made. The choice she’d live with.

         And so she moved forward, needing nothing more.