Blonde and cherry hues melted into the majestic horizon. A coil of blustery current spiraled with the cool crumbs of rock. A soft painted bronze swallowed the open terrain. A silky cobalt figure strolled through the whispers of sand. A sheer cut squeak squashed the ghostly aura. Then, the terrain surged of boiling crimson fluid.

Rays of sun gushed into the unconfined space. I gazed at the tiny tent in which I was located. Six leathery cloths separated me from the naked air. I began to prepare for the days travel, unraveling the ginger fabric. I then selected a lighter, more modest portion of clothing.

As a peeled the seal of the tent a searing breeze engulfed my lungs. It seemed as if the climate of the desert was opposing me. Drawing its battle lines of wind and sand. This sheer torture had been occurring for weeks. I was ready to burst, to sacrifice my last breath to wounding the heat. I unsealed the clasp of my lips, exposing my mouth to the smooth simmer of heat. I observed a man, with locks of auburn. His eyes shined pure evil, yet somehow, I melted at his sight. That is when my selfishness departed, leaving me to cower in shame.

“Excuse me sir?” I smiled, hope and love sopping my eyes, “You must be Belay, newfound leader from the south,” I grinned, hoping the slight beam would mask the thudding of my heartbeat.

“And you are…?” He replied arrogantly.

“Alile, a faithful worker and frequent trader,” I blushed and preformed a staggered curtsy.

“Yes… and what makes you think you have the permission to speak to me? You are nothing but a common trader and housemaid. I converse only with the highest of royalty to apply my skilled work to the best. Get out of my way.” With that, he rammed me aside, and began to walk toward the civilization.

I watched as the man trotted through a pack of individuals, shoving violently. His ego flickered superiority and a shot of disdain. Yet, his true personality had not yet been revealed. In moments he passed by a mother, her child beside her, consumed in mud and twigs. The child’s expression was smeared with hope and sorrow. The boy’s hair seemed almost as torn and ripped as his heart. His eyes coated in trauma. Yet, the young man, too proud to see the pain that life holds, too cold to see the throbbing in the boy’s heart, pushed the mother aside, leaving her one more reason to be maimed; inside and out.

My life felt so pure, so sure. I knew I had loved him from when I had first met him. Although he would not remember me, our childhood was united. I recalled him, playing tag until late dusk, running our hearts out in with the painted hues of pink consuming us. He never thought of me the way I saw him. I loved him, and I always had. I could feel my spirit, holding on to his heart. Dragging me with the essence of cruelty in the man. I loved him. Yet, he would never love me. Not with the wreck of his core. He is brutal. I am kind. He loathes me. I love him.
I slowly strolled over to the ropes in which they were tied. The sun beated firmly against their squashy bulks. Vriend, my favorite camel gazed up as me as if to ask, “what’s wrong?”

“I cannot do it, Vriend,” I sniffled, “I should have infinite hate to him. I’m in love with someone who is cold in his heart, someone who may never understand the true meaning of love, someone who hates because its fun. Yet, something tells me inside that I should help him, that I should feel sorry for him, that I should love him- and he makes me weak.”

Vriend simply stared at me. She had neither a twinkle of empathy nor shimmer of hatred. She just stared. As if to permit me assemble the verdict. The flicker in her eyes emerged quickly as if to warn me of a terrible forthcoming, but, she just sat there, in a roll of tall jade stalks, with utter sorrow.

Three hours later the camp was arise. Flames blazed through the icy shadows. The traders must transport the entire camp to a new oasis at the opportune moment. Their job was to avoid the curls of heat as well as the sheets of frost. It was decided; we would leave when the sky flushed a tinted golden in the morning.

As I waited, the camp sluggishly exited the meeting, knowing that the glow of golden was an early shade of sunlight. Gradually, the dazzling blazes concluded their flames. The cloaks of the shelters closed and the wind of dusk began to wail. My mind still in confliction of love craved the loneliness of the shade. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a cobalt form rushing in the distance. My heart banged with anxiety. I knew it was him. Belay was running away. His brutality was the one that would kill him.

I knew exactly Belay’s plot. He wanted to go through the night, pride covering the stories of the weather, and enter the new oasis early to trade before the rest of the camp arrived. I had no idea how to react. Shall I call for him? No, this was his decision. Shall I cry for the camp leaders? No, I loved him too much. So I just stood there, without knowing what I should do. Then, a cry rang out yet it wasn’t my own.

My torso swiveled towards the shriek, but it was to late, Belay’s sizzling scarlet liquid had already cascaded out of his chest. He knocked himself to the ground. My instinct to rush to him existing with such strength that I arrived by his side faster that possible. Yet, the swiftness of my feet was not quick enough to stop the bleeding. Tears gushed out of my eyes. Then, a soft sound sheltered the frequency.

“I’ve lost,” he whispered.

“No, you’ve come so far, you are so loved,” I argued.

“No, Alile, I have not. The hate in my soul as enclosed the love of my heart. I never had the chance to tell the one I love truly my devotion to her.”

“Then say it Belay, tell her. She will listen. Say it to her will the passion you never gave her. Be proud,” my eyes cried with heartbreak. His lips pursed with weakness. They slowly opened exposing the midnight air to his mouth. And a tone emerged form his jaws.

“I love you.”

The next morning the sun rang a hue of golden. The merchants woke. Confusion enfolded them, for they were standing in a perfect flush of the purest water. Then, a boy rushed into the flow and cooled his mind. He cooled his past. He cooled his torn hair. He cooled his heart of its throbbing.

“Come mama!” He shouted with joy. His mother, ripped and torn as he, rushed into the perfection of the water and closed the caps of her eyes.

“You may have a happy life after all, Nile,” she said to her son and for once, she smiled.

The Nile was created from perfection; such a beauty that can only be found in the most extraordinary circumstances. When tears of sorrow meet the blood of a twisted character, beauty is created. This beauty is only found when love overcomes reality. And evil is curved by the essence of love.