As I lay dying, the sky seems full of promise. Stars splay across a purple night, like sparkling guests drunk off conversations at an opulent dinner party. The moon however, my trusted host, lays sullen; no doubt wilting beneath the weight of what it’s witnessed.

Here I am, ready to leave as I came; naked, alone, but perhaps a little less whole. I watch as their silhouettes shrink in the horizon, until finally swallowed by the voluptuous folds of the desert dunes. And with them, my fear.

I reflect on the odyssey I have embarked on; a hopeless attempt to go back in time. Somewhere, anywhere, where happiness can spring. The wind spirals thin, like the solitary song of a plaintive violin. And this is the last of what I see:

Footprints blow to scribbles across the sands; the last chance to have my story told, buried by the bitter collusions that define the nature of our world.


*Every year thousands of refugees seeking asylum from harrowing conditions in their homelands cross the arid terrain of Africa in hopes of a future for their families that that doesn’t end in suffering. They experience scorching conditions while trekking through the Sahara and are often attacked by smugglers who either rob them of the last vestiges of their dignity, or worse, enslave them for use of their bodies in a burgeoning illicit organ trade. Victims are captured, robbed of their organs, then disposed of and left to die in the dessert. This is sadly the fate of over 10,000 people per year (according to the World Health Organization). This is for them.

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