Page 44 - creative spark 2020

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15 AUGUST 1037
Dear Diary,

The Sun has risen. The chants from the mosques echo
through the city, as the first light of day shines through the tops of
the mosques, decorating the amber coloured sky with silhouettes.
This is my last day in Merv. I will miss the beautiful mosques and
the wonderful music from the wonderful people here. I hate the
desert. I hate dryness and drought, but I will have to move on.
Farewell, Merv. We might meet again sometime. All right. We have
our water, we have our food. We are ready to move on.

28 AUGUST 1037
Dear Diary,

We are in the middle of an Arabian desert. I despise this
part of the Silk Road. There is nobody here. Our caravan is the only
group of life in this remote area. The Sun is burning, the weather is
dry, and the air is stuffy with heat. We must stick together, because
of the Arabian bandits, on their camels, wearing dark keffiyehs,
swinging their scimitars, looking for innocent merchants like us. We
all know their blades are seldom shiny, for they are always covered
in blood. Some say the bandits drink blood. I do not like how that
sounds. I, Shao Mei, and Khao Hui sleep together every night out
of fear. Sometimes our ears play tricks on us, and we fear that the
bandits have encircled our caravan, preparing their scimitars for a
massacre. We always sleep and dream and wake with fear and
anxiety. I hope we will finally leave here soon, since we can never
entirely rely on caravanserais. They are not everywhere. The only
thing that is everywhere is sand, and sand is unforgiving.