A Sleight of Hand

She tips back her head and shakes the canteen over her open mouth, praying for one more drop. One last wet lick. But like yesterday, and this morning, it remains dry, and she tosses the empty canteen along with the last of her hopes to the burning sand.

Stretching stiff fingers, she counts off the days.



Three. Three days since the food ran out. Three. She squeezes her eyes tight. Shakes her head. Gasps in a deep breath, her fisted hands buried in her eyes. That means Mark’s been dead a week. A week…

Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Mexico, she said. Over and over again. They could take a boat across the Gulf to Venezuela. It was a no brainer...there’s no extradition there.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)