Angie Rega’s latest story, Love in the Atacama or The Poetry of Fleas, is up over at Crossed Genres:
The girl stood in the hot, yellow sand, her top hat tilted forward to shade her eyes. She squinted at the harsh light reflecting off a solitary dune. Her Abuela had told her the Atacama shimmered and sparkled just before it shifted, altering the desert landscape, making it unrecognisable even to the most experienced traveller.
She hoped it wasn’t just one of grandmother’s bedtime stories. Manuelo would pursue her, she knew, and despite the dry heat she shivered at the image of his military buttons glinting in the low sun.
If the sand really shifted like Abuela said, he would not be able to find her.
Whiirrr…sssshhh, the breeze whispered and sand pools formed and twirled around her shins. She wished she spoke the language of the winds and kept her eyes closed because that’s how wishes were made. When the breeze went silent and her shins no longer felt the sting of the sand, she opened her eyes.
The landscape was different, just like Abuela said. It was as if the desert had taken on a new identity.
She turned behind her and saw that her footprints had been erased from the sands. Manuelo would not be able to pursue now. Margarita exhaled. She gazed out across to the point where the sand and sky met in front of her. The sand was a subdued yellow, contrasted against a clear blue sky and it made her feel crisp and clean, like jumping into a bed of freshly washed sheets.
She put her hand in her large pockets and smiled; her three little friends were still there. She adjusted her top hat, picked up her small impressed leather suitcase, whistled her special tune and began to make her way up the slope of a newly formed dune.
The rest lives here.
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