Fossils of the Missing Ones VI: The Stranger
The mosquito net shone
black stippled morning rays
on my boxer shorts.
With a heavy head,
a grunt (and a cry of pain),
I got to my feet.
“I trust you slept well.”
At once I reached for my throat,
recalling the previous night’s events.
It was not the little boy’s voice, though;
this voice came from the corner of the room
where there’s no light.
“I trust you’ve found them.”
I squinted to match the mysterious, shrill voice
to the stranger’s face.
“The fossils,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed.
“Your work here is done.
The Faculty of Anthropology will take over now.”
A thick envelop
(filled with money, no doubt)
hit the bedside table.
“We are not done here. If it’s an ancient relic you’re looking for,
don’t worry, Stranger, we have signed an agreement. Take your money, please.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.”
“That’s a nasty cut. Looks like a stab wound. Let me guess: an accident?
Get out while you can.”
I ignored his pleas,
“Our contract expires within the next two weeks;
I intend to keep my side of the bargain, Sir.”
But his words were sharp:
“Tread lightly, young man.”
He took the money and left.
I tread lightly as I reached the site,
mainly because of my back
and the damn hot sand.