Sun Woman

By Mokutima Ekong

I crouch down near the shoreline as the sun bakes my exposed back. I move my index finger in a circular motion through the soft sand, fixing my attention on the hypnotizing and numbing action. Ring after ring, I make the same pattern. The sand sticks to my finger and the bottom of my feet, adding an extra layer to my skin. I wear my new coat with slight hesitation and curiosity.

The ocean water washes an apple-sized seashell ashore. I pick up the spiral-shaped shell, running my fingers along its ridged, coral covering. I examine the seashell, bewitched by its shape and color. I have a knack for finding lost things—and subsequently losing lost things. I circumvent my fate by tossing the forsaken shell back into the sea, feeling empowered. It bobs along the top of the water, eventually dipping below the surface, out of sight.

My eyes follow the path of the blue-green waves as they crash onto the shore. In and out. Their cool, cream tips kiss the backs of my feet. I embrace the water, allowing it to transport me to oblivion. I close one eye then the other. I lift my chin up to the sky and let my skin absorb the sun.

I feel a cold hand on my face, breaking my tranquil state. I peel one eye open then the other. A tall, scruffy looking man, with an unkempt beard, sunken eyes, and tattered clothing glares at me. The thick, forest green vegetation behind him augments his daunting form. The sky adopts a darker shade. He removes one digit at a time from my face. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. I feel the air leave my lungs before darkness consumes me.

***

He removes his hand from her face, reveling in his victory. He grunts as he bends down to look at the vacant body. Her sapphire eyes stare back at him blankly, unforgiving. He flips her eyelids down, more so out of discomfort than respect. The woman’s ghost-like appearance elicits a tinge of guilt from the man’s body. His remorse, while fleeting, puts a damper on his silent celebration. He touches her freckled cheeks once more. Her cheeks no longer possess their rosy hue.

The man sloppily scoops up the sun woman, his hands coming into contact with her thin, white dress. Scarlet dots emerge across the fabric. First dots then blotches. Terror-stricken, he releases his hold on the woman’s body. Her limp body connects with the sand and makes a light thud. She lands on her back, with her arms and legs awkwardly spread-eagle. He looks at the woman in horror, his eyes wide. Her body begins to writhe against the stark white sand, her dress transferring its dark red color to the light grains. Scarlet blotches taint the island floor. The man runs for the jungle, hoping to reach the kingdom before the final stage. The sun woman’s prophecy commences.

A force akin to the wind pries the woman’s mouth open. Her mouth releases a stream of forsaken objects, past and present, the outpour cascading down her small frame. The flow continues as the objects start to form a five-layered circle around her body, protecting her. An apple-sized seashell, with its unique coral covering, rolls along the sand, waiting for the woman with a knack for finding lost things.