Red Land

By Mehreen Ahmed

Unlike my planet earth, this is a harsh new land with lush sunlight burns a skin cancer, bleak trees, dark, and thorny, beautiful like piano-fingers, breezy summers, dry and humid, vast, dusty, red fields with infrequent rainfalls, apart from mush, not much grows in this inhospitable conditions which breeds tougher crowder, except there are just few handful of us on this red earth which is barren, unless there are some under ground, I’m sure, not sure where they are on the surface, unless I am alone, and I see no one around me, maybe they are some place else safe and sound, I just wouldn’t know where they are, what domicile am I on this planet, anyway? That too I don’t know for I agree to transport myself here, because of the promising sound of mad adventurous, on a new planet, perfect to raise children.

No jobs on this new land, unemployment is higher than ever, rejections pile up on my desk getting heavier with hundreds and thousands of cobwebs laying crisscrossed on letter pile, inflation hits rock bottom as jobs are fewer and far between, such is the state of affairs when I land here nine days ago, with a child in my lap with all the time in the world.

One stormy evening, though, grey clouds hang over every topless tree and a few pointy shack, I am on a job search, tired from it all, the weary walks and the hard knocks, I come home, under such a tree—this stark tree, with some fallen, hectic leaves nestle underneath where we burrow, I cover my baby up in a torn, fuzzy blanket, I protect from the elements much greater, for us such fanciful specs on the expansive oceans, beneath the ceaseless skies, the wind’s ferocity, I breathe, and struggle blanketing my tiny tot.

Twisted knots, roots up this tree deep down which seeps into the red ground, and locks in fruity juices, this empty tree, our home, only the stark branches grow over our heads, through which a waxing moon bleeds, the baby wakes up, cries from cold, and hunger, the moon moves closer, it glazes and it twinkles, until baby falls off to sleep again, in the morning, I’m still snoring, but baby is up and smiling, the raging storm has passed, the sun is streaming through, I rise, I walk again this new day, crushing, dry leaves crackle under my bare feet, while unfeathered golden orioles flock, and frolic over us. Where do they come from? I wonder.

Through thick and thin, a pathway is forged for the baby to grow on, I explore challenging jobs, at par with life’s binding injunctions, there are rules which aren’t always at odds, pretty wild, when desperation pays off under this sinking tree, also shelters us, builds character, arms me with fortitude, and keeps hopes up, not out of the woods yet, for this journey is long, beset with powerful resistance, a huge red tree pushes through a grave, takes its sustenance from the dead.

About the Author

Mehreen Ahmed is a Bangladeshi-born Australian novelist.

She has published eleven books and works in Litro, BlazeVox, Chiron Review, Centaur Literature, AntipodeanSF, to name a few.

While her novels have been acclaimed by Midwest Book Review, and Drunken Druid Editor's Choice, her shorts have won contests, Pushcart, James Tait, and five botN nominations.