Port Louis, Mauritius

Port Louis, Mauritius

He had long fingers, longer than my arms. They sunk into the sand dunes, forming little wells of sand once they exited. Mr Sands had nineteen fingers (one had been broken before I met him), and he used all nineteen of them in concert when he skittered across the desert. Every time I met him, his head would cock to the left and then right, and then he’d lift a finger and caress my cheek. There were tiny black hairs on his fingers. They tickled my cheek.

I walked with Mr Sands for miles. He never ate the food I offered, but he did feed on decomposing corpses. We didn’t find a lot of these, but it was fine because he would swallow the corpse whole and then break it down over weeks. When I put my ear to his hairy black belly, I could hear the sounds of the acids inside, churning and dissolving.

Mr Sands enjoyed listening to the stories I had to tell. I told him about the city I grew up in, with its many bazaars and minars, where the palace gardens had peacocks strutting about, and where the water was so clear that we thought it was ambrosia. He would listen intently, shifting on his fingers all the time. If he thought we were safe, such as at night, he would fold his fingers and sit on the sand, offering me warmth. I hugged him with both hands.

Every time we saw other people, they steered clear of us. Very quickly, in fact. I wasn’t stupid, of course: it was plenty clear why they avoided us. Whenever I needed to make supply runs, I asked Mr Sands to wait for me by an oasis while I made the trip to a nearby town. I’d also ask if any foolhardy adventurers went off in the pursuit of treasure anytime lately. Mr Sands could always use more to eat.

Once, when I returned to the oasis where I’d left Mr Sands, I found him missing. I climbed up the highest dune near the oasis, and I looked in every direction, hand over my eyes to protect from the sun. Although the skittering left little holes in the sand, they always filled right back very quickly. I decided to wait by the oasis. The oasis rippled with my tears.

The following day, not long after dawn, I saw a group of hunters approach. They carried curved swords and very long guns. They had several camels with them, and each camel carried several large parts: dark, hairy, engorged and cut apart. The camels in the back carried the fingers, balanced on the back.

The men were very happy with their catch. I watched them settle at the oasis, drink from it, park their camels and inspect their goods. They asked me where the nearest town was, and then they asked me if I was mute. One of them hit me on the head and laughed. They left a few hours later. I didn’t know where to say goodbye.

Shanghai, Beijing, Zhangziajie, China

it’s strange

how one can straddle the days as though they were never meant to sleep. they find dreams elsewhere. for you, it is evening, for me it is morning. my day will be both your today and tomorrow, and then yesterday. every night that i forfeit sleep is another two days for you, morning, night, morning, night.

it’s like sunlight—when i finally do sleep, i fall into the oblivion of my own imagination knowing that you are waking, going, moving, and then when i’m forced back to consciousness, you are already asleep.

Myanmar (Burma)

kitty around the world (with a cameo of my hand)