Lana

This is an experimental piece that I've had in the back of my head for a long time. I've included it under the science-fiction heading, for lack of a more appropriate place to put it.

To squeeze a lie out of a truth; that's the power of our race.
In the dry dusty desert pan, I met a girl who almost killed me for my hat.
She told me her name was Lana.
But I knew she was lying, for she no more had a name than did the wind that whistled through the rock.
Maybe 'Lana' was a pleasant sound from her past, a reminder of her mother's warm knee or the safety of a closed encampment.
Something from before the burning, the hardening. When eyes had something else in them than the hunter's gleam; when hands were for caressing.
She was young in body, but her mind had been used up; probed, robbed, her hopes dessicated.
She wears sandals now that flap against the bedrock.
She trudges towards a mirage, as do we all.
Her pack jolts against her shoulder, a sharp edge making a wound that has scabbed over many times.
And I wept for her, though I had no tears; my body could not spare the water.

Reviews

[TC Dunn]

wow… incredible. I wish it was a bit longer though. I'd love to see you either turn this into a short story or even a novel. You're a great writer, and this piece has great imagery which draws the reader in. I love the line, "her mind had been used up; probed, robbed, her hopes desiccated." I can just see it in my mind. Really great work here. Hope to get to read more by you soon.

[Andrew J Proverbs]

Thanks for the kind words, guys. Is this the right spot to post this sort of message? Probably not; I'm sure I'll learn as I spend more time on the site :)

[NotEasilyBroken]

It was capturing. It allured me by title and by the end I was completly and utterly consumed. *applause* well done. Should be longer though...