The Blue Glow of Jasmine

Luca irately heaves the weathered gray journal with the metallic nodules to the back of the rundown tent. Then he returned to digging through the tattered crates and various piles strewn about the dwelling with an anxious fervor. However, hours past sunset the shadows cover more than the dim yellowed light touches. The obnoxious roar and crash of the waves muffle any forming thoughts. The humid dense wind sprays the salted sand past the thrashing frayed entrance. Sweat stings Luca’s searching eye as he overturns the worn throw rug carpeting the ground. A makeshift knife caught on the underside of the woven threads flings loose and sticks in the ground just outside. Winded and frustrated, the tall thin leather skinned man stands to rub his eyes and notices the dark liquid leaking from the side of his hand. He reaches for the nearest cloth, a wholly white and blue “Lone Star Grill” T-shirt, to wipe his eyes and then wrap his hand. Hearing the shuffling of sand, Luca spins around and prepares to use the shirt as a roped weapon. A short stout older black man pulls the knife from its landing spot and enters the tent.

“There has got to be a safer place to put this,” Warren says with a playful stabbing motion.

Luca still searching wide-eyed and agitated, “I don’t got time for you!”

“No time is right! We gots to go!” Warren bends down to slip the knife into an overturned backpack on the ground and starts to replace the rest of its casted off contents.

“Go? Yes, y-yy-you should get out of here!” Luca rubs vigorously behind his ear before upending the second half of the carpet and almost knocking Warren over. He then gropes ground.

“No, WE need to LEAVE! I will help you get your stuff together, but we need to get moving.” Warren stands upright operate to doubles his packing efforts.

Luca, undeterred in his hunt, returns to a previously ransacked area, “I know I had it here! It has to be here!”

“Whatever ‘it’ is, we will find you another or you really don’t need it! But either way, just grab what you can and let’s go!”

Luca’s frail but still somewhat muscular body lunges at the packing man. He seizes the short man by his coat collar and attempts to lift him. “Another? Find ANOTHER? There is only ONE and I NEED it. I don’t care what you do or where you go – as long as you GET OUT!!” An enraged Luca tries to throw his confused friend out of the tent, but they both go tumbling down halfway out of the entry.

Warren glances down the beach to see the few remaining able inhabitants running towards the waves and two large metal boats anchored just off the coast. The rising waves drown out the cries of those attempting to climb aboard the bobbing crafts, but the chattering crack of high-speed automatic gunfire becomes quickly audible. The smoke from the scattered bon-fires and suspicious ash floating in the air masks the approaching origins of the rapid deadly crackles. Whenever loyalty the aged man felt for his pale fixated friend is fading fast in the frantic fire. Warren grasps at the blonde auburn hair of the flailing man on top of him, in a last ditch effort to pull him into his dire circumstances. Instead, he abruptly finds himself lying in on the ground alone, as Luca scrambles back into the, now smoking, pale yellow shelter.

“Lu, Nah Man, come back!” Warren briefly considers further chase until, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the blue glow hovering above the sand. Grabbing his large green satchel, he retreats to the waves, giving only a swift scanning look back to see the tent catch ablaze.

“That fool has no idea what is happening,” Luca angrily murmurs under his breath as he squints to make out anything inside the smoke filled enclosure. The rear wall ignites to a bright orange as he collapses down on his hands and knees, gasping for breath. This sudden lowered posture sparks the visual memory of a stone gray wall missing a piece. In astonished relief, the trembling air-deprived man propels himself from the inflamed structure, with much more force than expected. He lands stomach first onto the log embers of the nearby dying bonfire. A quick roll and a few wild pats extinguishes the burning fear but leaves behind a singed whole through his shirt and onto his skin. No time for a reprieve, as the dark oblong butt of a rifle comes into fleeting focus just before striking Luca’s temple. The world fades to black; the crashing waves go silent.

*****

The still bright blue sky reflects peacefully above the gentle lapping pristine waters rocking the crystal clear boat. Sweet salt air with hints of jasmine dance on the lazy breeze.

*****

The electronic hum of a magnetic propulsion engine bleeds into Luca’s mind as his blurred eyes blink toward a focused consciousness. The outer corner of his left eye refuses to fully open due to swelling and, likely, dried blood crusted eyelashes. A throbbing pain in his right arm from its uncomfortable pulled back placement and the weight of his body increases. Realizing the existence of the metallic silicone restraints gripping his wrists and magnetically tethering his ankles, Luca concludes repositioning seems dubious. A blue glow around the edges of his dark sarcophagus cast minimal visibility.

“How far have we gone? How am I going to get back?” Luca wonders as he surveys the pains and damages to his body, the source of his confinement and its ultimate destination.

“Are we going up?” The forces on his body do not seem to indicate a shifting altitude.

“If I can get loose, can I get out?” Luca’s thought barely has time to register before an electric pulse fluctuates through him and the entire vehicle. His restraints release, the propulsion stops, but the momentum carries him and his hovering cage into a cascading crash.

*****

The clear crystal boat sits safely berthed along the elegant white dock nestled in the tropical port close to the resort, but far enough away to find privacy. The ice bucket at his feet holds only two more green tinted bottles, but that should be sufficient to complete the remaining day of fishing.

*****

The searing pain of a sharp jagged rock embedded in Luca’s thigh jolts him awake. With excruciating hast, he lifts his leg off the stone dagger and makes the gruesome crawl off of the razor sandstone area, where he seems to have landed. Fifteen feet further up the coast line lies the contorted remnants of his captors and their hovering transport. The resistance source of the EMP that both rescued and crippled him only momentarily crosses his mind. His primary concern rapidly shifts to the Driftwood lying down the beach and the stonewall he remembered. Crimson sands, painted from his cracked skull, impelled thigh and sandstone shredded hands, legs and feet, mark his painstaking drudge to an improvised wooden cane that helps him move upright again. Thoughts of possible ecstasy and relief mixed with the adrenaline and endorphins from his catastrophically agonizing day propel him down the beach.

“Get to the wall, find the stone, open heart, and get the hell out of here!” Luca begins his travel mantra.

“Get to the wall, find the stone, open heart, and get the hell out of here!” He repeats rhythmically with every few steps. The splinters from the aged oak dig their way into his already cut palms and fingers. More than once the ground, soft in some places, not in others, collides with large portions of his aching body as his balance and stability wane.

“Has it been hours, days, or just minutes?” Luca considers as he concentrates on the curving coastline. Every second that requires breath demands tormenting effort. Smoke rises in the distance.

“Almost there… Get to the wall, find the stone, open heart, and get the hell out of here!” Knowing the wall lies just around the bend, Luca endeavors to increase the pace only to find the ground with his head again. THWAP!

*****

A cooler of full fish sits on the dock; time to start dinner. The white and brown canopy set up on the beach already has a fire started and a chief system waiting to prepare his favorite mango tilapia dish. He disembarks with a cooler in each hand and admires the extraordinary reds, pinks, and oranges now painting the sunset sky.

*****

Red, orange and black flames consumed the tent city Luca left behind hours ago. Though reunited with the site, it is the first time he notices the bodies littering the scene: Those fleeing to the boats, who failed and were washed ashore; those caught in the cleansing fires or even those presumed as resistance and gun down. Only scavengers haunt these shores, human, almost human and animal. Luca ponders which of these he is, but he is a scavenger nonetheless.

A little more than twenty feet beyond where his dwelling once stood, a wall of stone divides the beach from the forest engraved above reads “Terra-2”. Four rows up from the bottom and two stones to the right of the only black rock sets a movable puzzle piece.

“I cannot remember which of us decided to hide it here.” Luca tries to recall as he painfully hobbles the last few feet, feeling weak and dizzy from blood loss. Once he reaches the wall, he props one hand below the engraved “T” and uses his driftwood staff to guide his way down to a sitting position while balancing on his somewhat good leg. The rouge slits on his hands stain the loose shifting stone as he maneuvers it free. With the perfectly shaped piece removed, the cavity sits empty. An overwhelming fear of withdrawals and panic rises within him, just before he examines the rock itself. Though it appeared to only be a sharp angled rock while in its place, now released, it exhibits two curves opposite the point. The heart within his hand contains yet another slot. Rotated on its side, it releases into his graded palm, a small, almost delicate heart-shaped locket made of stone and silver . His sore tired shaking fingers fumbled a moment before the center latch gives way and out floats a single pale lavender jasmine blossom. In sheer terror he almost misses the fluttering flower, but abruptly grasps it between his middle finger and thumb. Carefully balancing on the same finger, Luca raises the pedal to circular silver nodule behind his ear. Once contact is made, his eyes glow blue for a flash and his body turns limp.

*****

Lifting the white awning entrance drape with the back of his full hand, a young, healthy man resembling Luca enters the clean and plush canopy where the automatic system greets him, “Welcome, are you ready for dinner? She is on her way”

“Absolutely, W.A.R.E.N. I hope you are ready to make the best tilapia for 2 since their kind swam free in the Earth’s seas! And I think I will try that new Pinot I heard about on Terra-2 before I continue my journal entry.”

“As you wish, sir,” W.A.R.E.N. replies as the system’s mechanical arms collect the coolers. “But I thought we were under strict instructions not to mention Terra-2?”

“No worries, everything turned out fine in the end. After all, I am here with you, right?” He smilingly assures as he leans back on the white lounge chair.

“Ri-R-R-Right you ar…..”

Everything fades to black.