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Powder

Chapter 5

By Stieve FernandezPublished 4 years ago 1 min read
Powder
Photo by Colin Davis on Unsplash

“Dale wei!” a group Hispanic males moved feverishly back and forth bringing packages to a parked minivan.
The location is quite remote and suggests a forested area. Nothing stands out as to the location except for the thick jungle foliage and mountainous scenery. A soft fog skirts the valley and the leaves of the plants still hold the remnants of the afternoon shower of rain that recently subsided. The earth is a deep reddish brown which hangs unto most surfaces within its reach. Mud puddles litter the immediate vicinity and makes splashes as the exhausted men scramble with huge bales upon their head or shoulders. There are a series of huts some of modest sizing others quite grand. Their roofs made from palm fronds intricately woven, designed to hold the wrath of nature at bay. The floors are raised platforms with at least eight feet between it and the ground. The space underneath seems to be for security and or storage. The huts were place with a randomness suggesting convenience as the deciding factor during construction. The occupied land has been stripped of vegetation in a wide area covering at least four acres. This creates a dramatic contrast where the bare earth coupled with the effects of human occupation stands out against the lush jungle greenery which surrounds it on all sides.
Three dark green minivans sat beneath a roofed structure lacking the flooring of the other huts. There were a few men who occupied vicinity of the vans they were dressed as though they had only recently arrived to the jungle and probably would be leaving just as quickly as they’d arrive.
They sported cowboy hats and leather boots, their shirts neatly pressed tucked into jeans adorned by oversized ornately engraved belt buckles.
Chatting nonchalantly they each held onto glasses containing a brown liquid. Next to them was a wooden shelf which ran the length of the canopied area they shared with the vans. A radio played softly from the shelf and what appears to be the bottle from which they obtained their beverage sat next to the radio.

fiction

About the Creator

Stieve Fernandez

Hello am a 36 year old Jamaican national three years into my journey of creative writing

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