وا حد. First Sight

Took the death plane from Heathrow, a numbing multi-stop ride; first Schipol then Sofia, which only a few of us survived, before we landed in Cairo at two o’clock in the morning. At each stop, EgyptAir 778 bumped the tarmac and the empty seats flopped forward, their backs pointing to the ceiling, crash position. Is heads between knees, hands behind heads, really the best way to to make it through?

It was December and cold when I left, but when we reached the final destination it was hot and humid and my first thought was, Oh my God! After the jabs for yellow fever and tetanus, the pills for malaria and the cholera tablets, I had forgotten hepatitis!

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Veintitrés. High Lands

Alone again, and I had all the time to look at the room. It was unseasonably hot and I switched the fan to circulate the heat from the walls. It started slowly, each blade cutting the air in steady breaths until it spun into a whorl that swept the hair away from my face. The light was off and from the window, dusk shifted a red and orange hue across the walls. I looked out and beyond the river. The silhouettes of corn terraces scanned the valley, black mountainside beneath red shimmered light, a dying sun that left colours in the water like blood on oil.