Promises, Promises

 

Erg Chebbi, Morocco, Africa – by Rosino

The sand-sea whispers at night, like heavy curtains yoked into place, like Father’s list of disappointments as he pulls them closed.

A thousand voices.

One.

He speaks to me, the sand-sea; heresy and hear-say, tales of adventure, of caravan-fleets of camels sure-footed in the shifting surf, cresting the waves. He talks of luxuriating harem girls and of savage, bearded men, of tamed stone and green, green gardens. Surrusous memories, surrusous dreams.

Impossible, I to myself, too quiet for Father to hear. Tell it to the Tooth – that’s something Father says, when one of the beasts complains.

I don’t complain.

No one would listen.

Tell it to the Tooth. I glance up at the white-capped mountains that gnaw at the sky, impossibly distant.

The Tooth dominates the others, jagged, predatory.

The sand-sea whispers.

Temptation strikes.

I donned my dust-veil, drew the stone blade that he so lovingly sharpened.

The soft moon touched his face, he stirred under her weightless fingers.

My hand was in his before I realised he had awoken.

 

Now I sit, surrounded by the sand-sea.

Alone.

He whispers to me, promises a thousand razor-blades to scratch at my exposed skin.

Promises dehydration, promises brief, wandering madness.

Promises, promises.

I can only wait.

 

Written for some of this week’s BeKindRewrite prompts, Tell the ToothSea Sand. Tell me what you think, comments and criticism always welcome! 

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5 thoughts on “Promises, Promises

  1. D. Handler says:

    Interesting wordplay with this one, I enjoyed the imagery

  2. Stephanie says:

    Gorgeous. I whispered this aloud to myself just to taste the words. Particularly that first sentence, the fourth paragraph, and the part about the moon’s fingers. Can feel this one in the gut.

    Only change is a typo – surrusous should be susurrous – I was also pleasantly surprised to see that word used so aptly. Not many people know it.

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