colombia // shipwreck // greed.
a short story.
Based on a true story (link here). Originally published in newsflash⚡.
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I think it was a wall of wet bricks that got me thinking: he didn’t sound that excited, for a pirate, and I didn’t know if I should trust him.
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I’m stupid about trust. It follows you everywhere; even to these streets, in sickly old Cartagena, where the roads are not made of concrete, but of asphalt. Who could tell the difference? And if they could who would care? Nobody here has any time. Plans are made and then broken; friends are made and forgotten; enemies are made and then killed. Cycles of life and death I am not familiar with break out here and then vanish, as if hooked to the salt and the scent of the palm. A man on a moped brushes past, sending dust into my throat, sending me a hungry, sideways glance. I am out of place. I do not trust this assignment.
But there is no place for trust in a treasure hunt, as any shark with teeth will tell you. All you need is a map, and mine had led me here, for a beginning. To the port city. To the mayhem of man by the water. To the seagulls that bark from tin rooves, retreat, and silence the air with their wings. Eyes empty of faith look out at you, and there is good reason. Even with me here, I know: what there is to see is much the same.
Dust and money, strolling over cracked pavements, looking for more treasure.
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