![]() Was it a sin to drive his father's motor scooter without a license? Ruslan didn't think so. The preacher had warned of the coming flood of God's judgment for liars and sinners. Why was he having such awful nightmares? Perhaps it was the sermon at the mosque the other Friday. ![]() He cradled his head on his outstretched arm. All he knew was its color.Īfter the morning's only customer paid his bill and left the waterfront café, Ruslan sat down at a rickety plywood table shaded by one of the palm trees. He often swam in the rivers and played in the ocean waves, but this drowning water was different. Perhaps if he could draw the drowning nightmare, he could banish it as well.īut he didn't know how to draw it. The monster never bothered his sleep again. He'd drawn its picture, its scaly body and fanged head and barbed tail, and then ripped the monster in half. ![]() He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, so he sat down at his desk, turned on the light, and opened his sketch pad.įour years ago, when he was twelve, he'd had nightmares of a monster. In the distance, beyond the shacks and houses of Ujung Karang, moonlight glittered on the sea. He swung out of bed to stand in front of the second-story window, taking deep breaths of the cool night air. The water rushed in from nowhere, from everywhere, swallowing him in an instant. ![]()
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