What's Our story, or how and why it all began:
Or perhaps I would put it this way:
I remember the tent, the straw mat, the phantom figures and objects that Sarin the Bedouin used to surround us with, as if they were born out of the flickering coals reflected in his eyes. I remember the morning sun scorching, turning the hawks’ cheeks red under their yellow glare. And how I would shove branches into the burrow holes and chase away rats and snakes, the hawks diving down, devouring them alive.
I remember myself going to the wadi, letting the hungry quicksand envelop me, until, miraculously, a large rock as if lent its shoulder to my feet and helped me steady myself.
I remember my small body waiting for Chava, the girl who made me feel as though without her my life would reach a dead-end, my fingers gently winding the stem of the wristwatch my father had given me (a Doxa), the beating of time against my wrist, while I dreamt I was sitting on a giant chair, Chava bending over and fitting me with a glass slipper shoe, straightening up and saying: “It’s him!”
The Short Story Project is the desire for wandering and discovery, a passion for the spirit of imagination, a passion for contemplation.